


Words (Are Very Unnecessary)

by der_tanzer



Series: Between Carson and King Harbor [7]
Category: Emergency!, Riptide (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-19
Updated: 2011-08-19
Packaged: 2017-10-22 20:27:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/242251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/der_tanzer/pseuds/der_tanzer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Murray’s speech is impaired by a sudden accident, his friends find out how many forms of communication he’s really capable of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One Single Shoe

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Depeche Mode’s _Enjoy the Silence_.  
> 

_Engine 51, Squad 51, man hit by car at SW Eighth and Gresham. Eighth and Gresham._

The crew was up from the table and halfway to the equipment bay by the time the address was repeated. Cap wrote it down, handed the slip to Roy, and radioed back confirmation. In the squad, Johnny put his helmet on and sighed heavily. These were always bad calls. The injuries tended to be severe and there would be a crowd of bystanders. It was a busy intersection. So busy that they’d be lucky if some well-meaning Samaritan hadn’t already handled the victim, potentially making a bad injury worse. Or a worse injury fatal. It had happened before.

“I’ll be glad when this shift is over,” he said, unable to drum up even a little enthusiasm. Normally the lights and sirens could stir his blood no matter how tired he was, but this time he had nothing.

“No kidding. Joanne and the kids are packing right now and we’re heading out the minute I get home. Memorial Day at Disneyland will be a big crowded mess, but it’s still better than this.”

“Bound to be. Murray got us a place on the beach in Santa Barbara, reserved it back in February, and I can’t _wait_ for all that peace and quiet.”

“I’ll bet,” Roy said dryly. Johnny laughed briefly, and then his face turned serious.

“Right over there. Gotta be where that crowd is. Hope to God nobody tried to move him.”

Roy pulled the squad up to the edge of the huddled group in the street and they took off their helmets before getting out. Silly rule, Johnny often thought, but regulations were there for a reason. Probably. He opened the compartments and started pulling out supplies while Cap made a path through the crowd. Roy grabbed the biophone from Johnny so he could carry the splint box. They followed the captain to where a smaller group huddled on the pavement. The victim’s legs were all they could see—a pair of blue jeans and two feet clad in plain white socks. A single loafer lay nearby, its mate nowhere to be seen. He had been knocked right out of his shoes.

“Excuse me,” Cap said firmly, gripping one of the kneeling men by his shoulder. “Can you step back, please?”

Johnny stepped forward just as the kneeling man turned around, and he realized with a shock of cold horror that it was Cody Allen. He kept moving, his body on autopilot as his brain shrieked, _not true, not true, not TRUE_. But it was. Cody dropped back on his butt without trying to stand and Johnny saw Nick on his other side. Which left Murray on the ground, barefoot and bleeding from his nose and ears.

“Cap, you better call for another squad,” Roy said quietly. Johnny was already on the pavement, whipping out his penlight to check Murray’s eyes, and the captain turned to Roy with a puzzled expression.

“What’s going on?”

“The victim is a—a friend. A close friend.”

Cap nodded, already reaching for the radio, as Roy knelt beside his partner.

“What’ve we got?”

“He—uh—he’s breathing,” Johnny said mechanically. “Pupils are sluggish and the—uh—the right one’s blown. Bleeding from both ears, a little worse on the right. Pulse is weak, about thirty. You have the BP cuff?”

Roy handed it over and got the hospital on the line while Johnny tried to get a pressure reading.

“Here, you want to talk to the doctor while I do that?” Roy asked quietly. Nick looked up, his expression becoming even more fearful at the idea that Johnny might be doing whatever it was he was doing incorrectly.

“I got it. Hand me a cervical collar,” Johnny said without looking around. “BP’s sixty over thirty.” Roy repeated it to Dr. Morton and then got a collar out of the box. Johnny fastened it around Murray’s neck, being extremely careful not to move his head. He wasn’t tempted to caress the bloody face or offer any kind of comfort because the small part of his brain that wasn’t focused with laser-like intensity on doing his job was still denying that this was real. Murray was at home in King Harbor getting ready for their trip. It wouldn’t be their real anniversary for a few more weeks, but they’d chosen to celebrate early because it was Memorial Day and Johnny had the long weekend off. So Murray was packing, hunting for sunscreen and his favorite hat, fussing about which shoes to take, not lying here in the middle of a busy intersection in Carson bleeding from his ears with his shoes knocked off.

Dr. Morton ordered an IV and Johnny whipped out his scissors to slice open the long sleeve of his shirt.

“Looks like a broken right clavicle,” he reported. “Possible dislocated shoulder. I’m going to use the left arm.”

“He’s going to be all right, isn’t he?” Nick asked hoarsely.

“He’ll be fine,” Johnny said automatically. “Just give us a little room to work here.”

“Cap,” Roy called, half-turning and motioning with one hand. “Where’s that other squad?”

“There isn’t one,” Cap said, crouching beside him. “Everyone in the area is on a freeway pile-up. It’d take half an hour to get one-twelve out here. Look, can I help?”

“These two guys here,” he whispered, nodding toward Cody and Nick. “Keep an eye on them and grab ‘em if they start to move.”

“You got it.” He recognized them now, Murray from the hospital that time he visited Johnny, and the others from the earthquake where they’d all first met. He didn’t know how close Johnny and Murray were, but he understood that Nick and Cody were in deep and could make trouble. They’d certainly tried to last time.

Johnny started two IVs and applied a stabilizer to Murray’s shoulder. Then Roy helped roll him, while Chet slid a backboard under his spindly frame. Chet was watching Johnny as closely as Cap was watching Nick and Cody, waiting for him to crack and reveal his true feelings. Although they’d never spoken of it again, he thought every day about Johnny’s confession, that he was queer and in love with this unlucky geek, and fully expected an emotional display. But even as they loaded Murray into the ambulance, Johnny’s face remained impassive. He climbed in beside the gurney and in that one moment, their pure professionalism slipped just a little. But it was Roy who broke it.

“I’m going to ride in with them,” he said as he stepped up into the ambulance. “Chet, will you bring the squad?”

“Sure thing.” Chet slammed the rear doors and turned around as the rig pulled out. Nick and Cody were right there in his face, more queers with their trembling emotions and unpredictable needs.

“Is he gonna be all right?” Nick asked and Chet shrugged.

“He’s in good hands. They’re taking him to Rampart. You know the way?”

“Yeah,” he said, picking up on Chet’s not-too-subtle tone.

“Wait a second,” came a voice from behind them. “Did you two see what happened?”

“Yeah, we were right here,” Cody said. It was Vince Howard, the police officer who had been controlling traffic since the fire department arrived. That meant they weren’t going anywhere for a while.

“Care to tell me about it?”

“We were crossing Gresham with the light, and that Taurus over there,” he pointed to a red station wagon parked against the curb, “made a right turn on the red. And I know it’s legal,” he added, because the driver had made this case a couple times before they chased him away from their shattered friend, “but only when there’s no one in the crosswalk.”

“So he struck your friend? Dr. Bozinsky?”

“Of course he did,” Nick shouted. Then he lowered his voice with an effort and went on. “He barely even hit the brakes. Cody and I were a little ahead of Murray and we turned around when we heard the car. I could tell by the sound of the engine that it wasn’t slowing down and Cody started to pull Murray out of the way, but before he could, he—he was just—flying through the air.” Nick paused and rubbed his eyes, catching a glimpse of Cody doing the same.

The driver was leaning against the back of his Taurus, smoking a cigarette and looking vaguely apprehensive. Not horrified, not sorrowful, not afraid—just a little bit concerned. Nick saw the star in the windshield where it had collided with Murray’s head, and instinctively took a step in that direction. He hadn’t even registered the urge to kill, but it was there. The cop saw it and grabbed Nick’s arm.

“Your friend’s going to be all right. I know those guys—they’re the best in the business.”

“Yeah,” Cody said, running his hand through his hair and over the back of his neck. “We know them, too. Murray and Johnny are friends. Johnny saved his life last year. They’re pretty tight.”

“Is that right?” he said, narrowing his eyes at the smoking Taurus driver.

“Yeah. In fact, we were all over at Roy’s for a barbecue last weekend. God, I never thought—I can’t believe this. One day Murray’s playing word games with Roy’s kids and the next they—they’re cleaning him up off the street.”

The officer loosened his grip on Nick’s arm and patted Cody gently on the shoulder.

“I’ve been to a couple of those barbecues myself. Johnny’s a particular friend of mine. And Dr. Bozinsky is a particular friend of his?”

“Like I said, they’re pretty tight,” Cody said, not quite meeting his eyes.

“I’ll take that into account,” Officer Howard assured them, and he sounded like he meant it. “You probably want to get to the hospital and see your friend. I’ll be able to find you there in an hour or so?”

“Yes, sir,” Cody said and Nick nodded agreement. The officer shook their hands and went to make his arrest. The penalty for hitting a pedestrian was usually pretty mild, but it wouldn’t be this time. The guy was hurt bad and, maybe more importantly, he mattered to the right people.

Nick drove them to the hospital in the Jimmy. Cody had driven them to town, but he was too shaken to take the wheel now. He was good in a lot of situations, able to handle a number of crises, but he couldn’t be trusted to drive a car after a serious emotional blow. Nick might be angrier, and was definitely more likely to punch someone if the opportunity presented itself, but he was also able to concentrate better when there was something to do. Cody would take over again when they saw the doctors and the talk got technical. For now, he was allowed to retreat into his fears, knowing Nick would take care of him.

In the ambulance, Johnny and Roy faced each other over Murray’s still body. His respiration had decreased enough that they were monitoring it constantly, just waiting to see which would happen first: their arrival at the hospital, or an O2 drop that that would make them pull over and intubate him. Ultimately, it was the second. They were five minutes away when his O2 sats took a dive and Roy yelled for the driver to stop. Even as he notified the hospital, Johnny was getting the scope and tube from the box.

“Want me to do that?” Roy asked after receiving the order.

“Don’t touch him,” Johnny said mildly.

“What?”

“I’ve got it,” he said, not looking up. There was the slightest edge to his voice now and Roy doubted he could talk any sense into him. At least not without wasting more time than they could afford. He watched closely as Johnny pried his lover’s mouth open and threaded a tube down his trachea. In his heart, Roy knew he couldn’t have done the same. If this were Joanne or one of the kids, his hands would shake and his vision would double so that he’d be afraid to try. He’d done it for Johnny, but that was different. That went with the job. He wondered what was going on in Johnny’s head as he used the Ambu bag to squeeze air into Murray’s lungs. Was it like working on a partner or a spouse, or was it a totally different kind of relationship? One that Roy would never fully understand? Or maybe Johnny was just stronger when it came to these things.

Suddenly he remembered Drew Burke, Johnny’s police officer friend who had also been hit by a car. Johnny had handled that like a pro, comforting and reassuring Drew while they did what little they could without a doctor’s orders. He’d been great right up until Drew died, but by then they were at the hospital and Johnny was no longer in charge. Then he’d come apart so violently, Roy had never seen the like of it. He was strangely curious as to how Johnny would act today when they took Murray from him and he no longer had any illusion of control.

***

Johnny went into the exam room with Murray while Roy met their friends in the private waiting room. The one set aside for relatives of catastrophes. Since the ambulance had stopped on the way, they arrived at almost the same time. But all Roy could really tell them was that nothing had changed, which wasn’t such a bad thing in this case. He opted not to tell them how Murray’s breathing had failed on the road. He’d have been on a vent by the time they saw him no matter what, so they could be spared that additional horror.

Murray didn’t stay long in the ER, though. He went up for brain scans after a cursory exam, and from there into surgery just as soon as the nurse could get Nick to sign the consent. There wasn’t time to contact his family, but Nick had been given permission to sign papers the last time Murray was here.

Johnny stayed with him until he went into the surgical prep room, and only when the nurse shut the doors in his face did he go in search of his partner, pale and terrified, desperate for a shred of comfort.

Roy stood up when he walked in and Johnny staggered, shaking but calm, into his arms. For a few seconds they just held each other, something they had done maybe twice in their long friendship. Then Johnny was straightening up, impatiently brushing away a sheen of tears, clearing his throat as if nothing was wrong.

“Are you guys okay?” he asked casually. “We should have checked you out at the scene…”

“No, no, we’re fine,” Cody said quickly. “We—we’re always fine. How’s Murray? What did the doctor say?”

“He—uh—he’s in a coma. They’re going to remove a piece of his skull to give his brain space to, you know, swell.” He sat down heavily and buried his face in his hands. Roy touched his shoulder lightly and he tensed as if he wanted to jerk away but somehow couldn’t be bothered.

“Well, did they have any kind of prognosis?” Nick asked, impatient with fear.

“Prognosis?” Johnny snapped, raising his head. His hands fell to his knees and clenched there, tendons standing out in his arms. “He’ll live or he’ll die. There’s your prognosis.”

“Hey,” Roy said gently, squeezing his shoulder. “Calm down, okay?”

“Calm down? _Calm down?_ Are you kidding?” Then he turned to Nick, color rising in his cheeks. “And where the hell were you two when he was being mowed down in the street?”

“We were there,” Cody said, startled by the sudden attack.

“Oh yeah? Where? Five feet ahead of him? Six? Because if you weren’t running off and leaving him behind, you’d have gotten hit, too, wouldn’t you? Or maybe no one would have. Maybe that happy asshole would have been able to see three people a little more easily than he could one skinny guy in blue and gray.”

Cody looked down at his bright pink shirt and white jeans, then cast a guilty glance at Nick’s white shirt and khakis. They were a lot more visible than Murray, and a driver would think twice before taking out three men, anyway. Murray had dented the hood and starred the windshield. The three of them would have totaled the car.

“We—we were talking,” Cody said slowly. “Nick and me—we were talking about the weekend. Murray was going away with you and we were going fishing. He had a notebook he was looking at, some kind of list, and I guess he dropped behind. It—it wasn’t intentional. You have to believe that.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t,” Johnny shouted back. “It’s never _intentional_ is it? You don’t notice, you aren’t paying attention, he just wanders off, right? Jesus, I’m glad you two aren’t firefighters. Forget about rescuing victims, you guys can’t even keep track of your own crew!” He tried to rise and Roy held him down, pinching his shoulder viciously.

“Stop it,” he hissed, shooting an apologetic glance at Cody, who was on the verge of tears. “Hurting them isn’t going to help anything.”

“I don’t care,” Johnny snapped, but at least he kept his voice down this time. “Why am I supposed to worry about hurting _them_ when Murray’s up there in a coma, getting his skull dismantled?”

Cody put his hands over his face and turned away. He stumbled and Nick caught him, glaring daggers at Johnny as he held his lover close. Nick had always distrusted this handsome, smooth-talking action hero, and though it had taken a year, he was finally justified. The guy might be able to save lives, and if Murray was to be believed, he was a fun date and good in the sack, but when the chips were down, they couldn’t count on him. Already, they had forgotten how completely Johnny had held his emotions in check at the scene. All they saw now was a selfish, hysterical man who didn’t care about anyone’s feelings but his own.

For the rest of his life, Roy would remember those few minutes and wonder how things would have turned out if they hadn’t been interrupted. In the midst of his greatest tragedy, Johnny was confronted by his exasperated captain and had to find a way to be himself again.

“Gage, DeSoto, what _is_ this? Why aren’t you ready to go?”

Johnny looked up into the faces of Cap and the subtly smirking Chet, unaware that Roy’s grip had loosened, although the hand remained on his shoulder. He took a deep breath, playing for time, wracking his brain for any excuse, and then just told the truth.

“I’m not going anywhere, Cap. I’m sorry.”

“What do you mean, you’re not going anywhere? You’ve got two hours left on your shift, pally. Now I know these guys are your friends, but they’ll be okay without you. Maybe better than okay, if what I just heard is any indication.”

“Murray’s not just a friend,” Johnny muttered, bowing his head. This was it. His career was going to end right now. He would be jobless, unemployable, and Roy would be on his own with a partner who might not always put him first, but he couldn’t help it. He’d denied the man he loved a thousand times but he couldn’t do it now.

“Hold on,” Roy said quietly, ever the voice of reason. “Think about it a minute.”

“Think about what?” Cap asked, exasperation giving way to sternness.

“He’s trying to tell you the victim’s his boyfriend,” Chet said helpfully. Johnny covered his face again, Roy turned to glare at Chet, and the captain just stood there, suddenly pale.

“I didn’t just hear that,” he said after a moment.

“They’ve been together since the earthquake rescue. Isn’t that right, Johnny?”

“Shut up,” Cap said sharply. “In fact, you go wait on the engine.”

Chet shrugged and walked away, leaving the four grieving men and the baffled commander to sort things out.

“Cap,” Roy said quietly. “Let me call for a replacement to finish the shift so Johnny can stay here.”

“So this is—it’s true?”

“Wait a minute, Cap…”

“No, Roy. This doesn’t concern you, either. Be quiet or go wait outside.”

Johnny looked up then, the horror on his face telling the story more effectively than any number of words.

“Gage? You have anything to say?”

“I love him,” he whispered. “There. Are you happy? I’m a fag, he’s a fag, we’re in love and now he’s dying. Do I have to clean out my locker now, or can it wait until after he’s dead?”

“Aw, hell,” Cap muttered. “Roy, do me a favor and go call dispatch. Tell them Gage is injured and we need another team. You’re not going back out today, either.”

Roy nodded, giving Johnny’s shoulder a friendly squeeze. Johnny touched his hand lightly and then that last support was gone. Cap looked over at Nick and Cody, still leaning against each other in the middle of the small room, and decided that they were outside his purview. He sat down beside Johnny, his sigh almost lost under the rustle of his turnout coat. He started to put his arm around his friend, hesitated a split second, and then went ahead and did it. He liked Johnny and, surprised and dismayed as he was, that hadn’t changed.

Johnny’s back stiffened and he sat up straight, deciding to go out with dignity.

“Are you okay, pal?”

“No. No, Cap, I’m not. I love that guy. The guy you saw smashed on the pavement this morning. The guy who stopped breathing in the ambulance on the way over. The guy who’s having brain surgery right now. If he dies, I don’t know what I’ll do. I’m not sure I can live without him, so nothing else really matters right now, okay?”

“Hang on, John. Just slow down a minute.” His voice was calm and soothing with no trace of command. Johnny had never heard him like this and was strangely touched. “Roy knew about this? Your—proclivities?”

“It’s not enough that I’m going down, I have to take my friends with me?”

“No one’s going anywhere. I’m just trying to get the facts straight.”

“Yeah, Roy knew. He’s known for years, but it didn’t matter. Murray’s the only man I’ve ever been with. Almost everything else has just been cover stories. Lies, I guess, and I’m sorry about that. I just—I wanted to be a firefighter my whole life, Cap. This doesn’t have anything to do with how I do my job.”

“I know. And you’ve done a great job for as long as I’ve known you, day in and day out. I trust you, and I want you to be able to trust me. That’s what makes a good team.”

“So—what? You aren’t gonna report me?”

“I sure don’t want to. Just answer me one question, okay? Why am I hearing about this from Kelly?”

“He found out just before Christmas. He didn’t rat me out, but he said we weren’t square. I’ve been waiting five months to find out what that meant. I guess he was picking his moment.”

“He wasn’t blackmailing you, was he?” Cap asked suspiciously.

“No, nothing like that. After that one conversation, he never mentioned it again.”

“I noticed you two weren’t talking much, but you never were close. He’s treating you okay, isn’t he?”

“Same as always. Fewer practical jokes, maybe. He doesn’t want to have much to do with me.”

“But it seems like you’re working together okay.”

“I think so. Where’s this going, Cap?”

“I’m just trying to get the facts,” he said again.

“Yeah, okay, but the thing is, right now I don’t care. I don’t care about Chet or the job or what’s going to end up in the papers, even. The only thing in the world I care about is what’s going on in that OR, so this isn’t a good time to ask me to make decisions.”

“I’m not asking you for anything except a couple answers. What I’m thinking, John, is that if Roy managed to keep it a secret for—how many years?”

“Nine.”

“Nine years. And Chet held onto it for five months. He probably would have kept it longer if this hadn’t come up, right?”

“Maybe. Hard to say with that guy.”

“So, if Roy and Chet don’t tell, and I don’t tell, I don’t see where there’s a problem.”

“You really think Chet won’t have told everyone on the rig in the last ten minutes?”

“Well, maybe he has and maybe be hasn’t. But we’ve been a team for a long time. Our shift has been together longer than any six guys in the department, and that’s county-wide. I know what the regulations are, and I know how this kind of thing has been handled in other stations, but I can’t help thinking we’re different. Two thirds of the crew knows now and it’s been all right. That just leaves Lopez and Stoker. Do you have any reason to think they’d take it worse than I did?”

“I don’t know, Cap. Stoker kind of keeps to himself and Marco just goes with the flow. But if they knew, if they were all free to talk, other people would find out. You know what happened to Seth Roberts from one-sixteen.”

“Yeah, that was bad,” the captain agreed. “But it was his own crew that did it. I know you’re thinking about multiple response calls, but we’d have your back. Even if people did find out, and I’m not sure they would, our guys would take care of you. Didn’t Kelly hose you down after that chemical spill last week? He could’ve burned you then and he didn’t. He didn’t even knock you down with the hose, and he would’ve gotten away with it. Accidents happen.”

Johnny nodded, admitting that was true but still unwilling to say so. He was only focusing on this conversation with a tenth of his conscious mind. The rest was watching the big movie screen in his head where Murray lay eternally in the middle of a busy street with blood trickling from his ears. Occasionally the view would shift to zoom in on his vulnerable feet in their clean white socks, the single shoe three feet away, but mostly it stayed on his face, illustrating how naked he looked without his glasses. How he looked like he was sleeping when he could easily be brain dead.

“Wait a minute,” Nick said, interrupting his thoughts and reminding him for the first time since the captain came in that they weren’t alone. “Wait just a minute. You gave us that riot act about how this was all our fault because we didn’t _care_ enough, and all you’ve been talking about since he came in is your _job_. Who gives a shit about your job when Murray—Murray’s…”

“I’m not the one that brought it up,” Johnny shot back, unable to remember whether or not he had. “I _don’t_ care. I’m sorry, Cap, but right now I just—I really don’t. And I don’t deserve any grief from you, Nick Ryder. You were the one who let him get hurt. I’m the one who showed up and fixed it.”

“You didn’t fix _shit_ ,” Nick shouted. He’d let go of Cody and was standing over them now, trying to intimidate Johnny with his superior size. “You didn’t do anything. We could have put him in the car and driven him here in less time than it took you to show up and do whatever it is you did before you put him in the ambulance. The doctors are doing the _real_ work.”

“And I suppose you could have tubed him in the car when he stopped breathing halfway here? Or are you figuring it didn’t matter since he probably had brain damage already?”

It wasn’t until Nick swung on him that Johnny realized he’d been hoping for just that. He wanted to be hit, to feel some physical pain that might take the edge off the agony in his heart, and was disappointed when the captain reached up and caught Nick’s fist. Cap got to his feet, still holding Nick’s hand, and towered over him, making him take a step back.

“There’s not going to be any more of this,” he said firmly, steering Nick backwards to where Cody stood waiting. “No more yelling, no more blaming, and no more guilt. I admit, I’m way out of my league here. I don’t know your friend and I don’t have an emotional stake in this, but I can tell that you all love him very much. Enough to rip each other to shreds over what’s essentially a piece of bad luck. And while I don’t know him, I feel pretty safe in guessing that he loves you, too. _All_ of you,” he added, taking a few seconds to look all three men in the eyes. “So ask yourselves if this is what he’d want you to be doing. Sitting here in a hospital yelling at each other like a bunch of children. You’re lucky they haven’t come and thrown you out.” He let go of Nick’s suddenly limp arm and turned back to John.

“I can’t stay any longer, pal. I wish I could, but duty calls. I’m gonna send Roy back in here, and then I’m gonna go talk to the crew. You take your days off and we’ll see where we are on Tuesday, okay?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, Cap.”

“No problem. You all just behave, all right? Think about what Murray wants.” He nodded to Nick and Cody, gave Johnny a clap on the back, and walked out, leaving the three of them standing there bristling at each other like a pack of strange cats. As if they had never lived together at sea, never broken bread together, never shared confidences and laughter and the care of the man they all loved.

Nick and Cody held their places, reluctant to surrender the illusion of power they got from standing up while Johnny sat in his demeaning vinyl chair. Captain Stanley had defeated them briefly by being taller, by possessing the voice of authority, but he was gone. So they clung to their small advantage, Nick still glaring at Johnny while Cody darted fearful glances from one to the other, prepared to grab whoever moved first.

The stalemate was broken when Roy came back, evening the numbers. He had also shared their home, and welcomed them into his own in return. They’d played with his children and swum in his pool. They turned to him as a welcome alternative to the man they could no longer face.

“How are you guys doing?” Roy asked gently, earning an annoyed look from his partner.

“About as well as can be expected,” Cody said grimly.

“Yeah, that wasn’t a very smart question. Sorry. Here, you should sit down. You’re going to be here for a while.”

“We’re fine,” Nick said, at the same time Cody accepted a seat. It meant being closer to Johnny, but they took chairs against a different wall, at a right angle to him so at least they weren’t side by side. Nick sat beside Cody with just the right amount of reluctance—enough to grate on John without being worth Roy’s mentioning it. Only then did Roy sit beside his friend. Johnny didn’t say anything, but Roy felt him relax just a fraction and was glad.

“I can stay a couple more hours,” he murmured, brushing Johnny’s shoulder with his own. “But the kids are waiting, you know. They’re young and they wouldn’t understand.”

“Yeah, Disneyland. I forgot.”

“If you really need me…”

“No, you should go. Just—uh—give me the number of your hotel and I’ll let you know how he’s doing.”

“Good, good. I’m going to be worrying about you two the whole time, you know.”

“Don’t forget to have a little fun,” Johnny said with the barest hint of a crooked grin.

Then Cody spoke, his voice cracking with emotion as he said, “Murray loves Disneyland.”

“And Knott’s Berry Farm,” Nick agreed, putting his arm around Cody and hugging him close. Johnny’s stiff back bent as if it had been broken and he pressed his forehead to his knees, clasping his hands behind his neck. Roy stroked the knobs of his spine, feeling him tremble and not saying a word.

They waited, but no one came to talk to them. At one o’clock, Roy had to leave. Nick and Cody said goodbye, Johnny thanked him for staying as long as he had, and then the three of them were alone again.

“I was just turning around to look for him,” Cody said suddenly. “I was reaching for his hand when he got hit. He—he always falls behind, you know? Gets to thinking about something, or looking at one of his lists, and just forgets to keep walking. I was just reaching for him…”

“Yeah,” Johnny sighed, scrubbing his face with one hand. “I try to keep him in front of me when we’re in crowds or—or crossing the street. He just—he’s in his own world so much of the time.”

Cody nodded, unable to speak, and Nick felt himself thawing just a little toward Johnny. He was still a stranger to them in so many ways and Nick couldn’t relate to his misery the way he used to be able to when it was Ted Quinlan sharing these vigils. They’d known Ted first, before Murray fell in love with him, and that gave them something to hold onto. Johnny was different, and when Nick tried to tell himself that he felt exactly the same way that Nick would if it was Cody up in surgery right now, it failed somehow to ring true.

Johnny pulled his knees to his chest and hid his face in his arms. No one spoke to him again.

***

Chester B. Kelly had also managed not to talk. Marco, his de facto partner in crime, asked where John and Roy were and got nothing but a disgusted shrug in response. Eventually the captain returned, but he was likewise silent on the matter. At least until they were back at the station. Then he gathered everyone in his office and closed the door.

“What’s going on?” Marco asked, looking sidewise at Chet.

“Yeah, what happened to Roy and John?” Stoker asked. “They didn’t quit, did they?”

“You’re gonna wish,” Chet muttered.

“Hey,” Captain Stanley bit out. “You don’t talk.”

“What’s the deal, Cap?” Stoker asked casually. He was mildly curious, but he didn’t really want to get involved.

“Well, it’s kind of a delicate situation, which is why Kelly isn’t allowed to speak.” He cleared his throat, then moved nervously from his chair to the edge of his desk. “You guys like Gage all right, don’t you?”

“Johnny? Sure, he’s great,” Marco shrugged. “Why? Is he in some kind of trouble?”

“Not if we don’t want him to be,” was the rather cryptic reply. “That run we just had? Turns out the victim is—well, he’s a friend of John’s.”

Chet opened his mouth and Cap pointed at him, making a sharp sound of rebuke.

“Well, that’s not a big deal, is it?” Stoker asked. “Except that guy was hurt pretty bad. Is he going to take some time off?”

“Yeah, for starters. The thing is, they’re not exactly—friends. Apparently, Gage is—uh—dating this guy. Has been for quite a while.”

“Dating?” Stoker repeated, his bored indifference finally cracking. “Johnny’s—gay?”

“Seems like it, yeah. He told me this guy, Murray, is the first. He said all those girlfriends were covers—mostly lies—and he’s real sorry about that. But the department being what it is, there wasn’t anything he could do.”

“So why’s he talking now?” Marco asked, finally beginning to process the news.

“Because Kelly here has a big mouth. He found out a while back and he’s been holding it over John’s head. Until this morning, when he decided the time was right to tell me. Apparently, Roy’s known since sometime in the late seventies, so that just leaves the two of you.”

“Wait, what did Roy know?” Marco asked. “If this Murray guy is the first…?”

“He knew the girlfriends weren’t real, at least. I didn’t ask for a lot of details, guys. It wasn’t the right time.”

“So, what’s the deal, Cap? What are we going to do?” This from Stoker, who was a consummate professional and wanted only to see the crew continue functioning as reliably as it always had.

“Well, what _I_ want you to do is treat him the way you always have. I want him to come back to work and find a supportive environment full of friends who will keep watching his back and let him do the same great job he’s always done. I don’t want any gossip or abuse, and I sure as hell don’t want to see any ‘accidents’ because he didn’t get a ladder or a hose when he needed it. And,” he went on when Chet opened his mouth, “I don’t want any hose jokes, either. No double entendres or crude remarks. I also want it to stay in this station, on this shift, in this room. The official story is going to be that Gage is off right now because he was injured during the response, and if any of you can’t or won’t stick to that story, you'd better raise your hand right now.”

They all nodded, thoughtful expressions on every face.

“Are you guys going to be able to keep your mouths shut and welcome him back without any trouble? Because I’m not going to have a Seth Roberts on my crew. My guys aren’t going to kill a brother firefighter and then march behind his casket like it was any other accident. You got that?”

It was harsh, but it was also exactly the right thing to say. Every mind that had been occupied with thoughts of sharing bathroom facilities and sleeping quarters with a queer was suddenly imagining a funeral procession instead. Not some nameless, faceless homo, but their friend, Johnny Gage, in a casket, taking his final ride on the engine. Coming to work without him, seeing Roy with a new partner (assuming Roy stayed after they killed his best friend, which was doubtful), missing his talk and his laughter and his unmitigated but justified ego every single day.

“I guess it might take some getting used to,” Marco said slowly, “but if he’s always been—that way—and never bothered anyone before… Well, it’s Johnny, right?”

“Yeah,” Stoker agreed. “Roy’s the one closest to him, so if he doesn’t mind, I guess we don’t have any room to complain. But—how sure are we that he and Roy don’t, you know, have something on the side?”

“That’s exactly the kind of talk I don’t want to hear,” Cap said firmly. “First, I think we can be pretty sure. And second, it’s none of our business. Now we need to wrap this up before the replacement paramedics get here, so I’m gonna ask one last time. Can you three keep it to yourselves? Will you protect him, or do I need to see about transfers?”

“Transfers for who?” Chet asked, the first time he was allowed to speak.

“Going by the general tone of the group, I’d say you. So, what’s it gonna be, Chet?”

“If that’s what you guys want, it’s fine by me. I won’t say anything.” But his expression said plainly that things weren’t going to be the same for him. Captain Stanley chose to ignore it and move on.

“So, when’s Gage coming back?”

“I don’t know, Marco. He’s off the schedule until Tuesday, but it depends on what happens with Murray, I guess. I don’t need to tell you that he might not make it. And whether he does or not, John’s going to need time to deal with all of this. So we’re gonna be as kind and understanding as we can be, and if you can’t be kind, be quiet. Are we agreed?”

“Yeah, agreed,” Chet said, and he seemed to speak for them all.

A knock on the door signaled the arrival of the new medics and the crew trooped out to greet them, strangely subdued but not impolite. They all had a lot on their minds, but none of them said a word.

***

Nick called Murray’s parents and told them the bare minimum necessary to get them on a plane. Melba was home for a short vacation between her latest dig and her summer job teaching at a university in Munich, so she would able to come this time. But they couldn’t get a flight until the next day, which left Nick in charge for the night.

He and Cody took turns sitting in the waiting room, one keeping vigil while the other brought coffee and sodas, found sandwiches that neither could eat, and occasionally escaped to the restroom where they could grieve in solitude. Cody brought Johnny a cup the first time he went out for coffee, but it remained untouched on the chair beside him so neither offered again. Nurse Dixie, whom they vaguely remembered from last year, came in once to tell them the surgery was progressing as well as could be expected. She asked Johnny why he was there and accepted his simple claim of friendship without further question. The truth was all over his face, and hospital gossip was every bit as bad as firehouse talk. There was no need to start it any sooner than absolutely necessary.

The neurosurgeon came in at five to tell them it was over. Murray had survived the surgery with good vital signs and was in ICU. What happened next was up to him. Nick asked if they could see him and the doctor said probably not, but they could go up and check with the nurses, since they were the ones who really ran the place.

They knew the way, and the two of them shot out the door, leaving Johnny behind, watching with a sinking heart. He wasn’t family, nor was he on the list of approved visitors, which was written up last year, before he mattered. Right now, access to Murray lay exclusively in the hands of two men he hadn’t spoken to all day, except to shout accusations. He had no status; no rights, and no grounds on which to seek them. As the door swung shut behind them, he envisioned a dozen situations in which he never saw his lover again. Murray could die. Tonight, tomorrow, or next week, it wouldn’t matter. If they didn’t let him in, they didn’t let him in. Murray could be sent to another hospital or a care facility and no one would ever have to tell Johnny where he was. His parents could decide that Murray didn’t need him around, or they might think that Murray didn’t want him. The worst case scenario, at least that he could come up with at the moment, was Murray wanting him, but too damaged to communicate the need. If he couldn’t speak, he might pine for his lover without anyone knowing. And people with brain injuries often didn’t speak for a long time.

All of those thoughts ran through his mind in a matter of seconds, complete with horrifyingly vivid images. Then the door opened and Nick was standing in front of him, hands in his pockets, an unreadable expression on his face.

“You’d better come, don’t you think?”

Johnny nodded and got carefully to his feet. They joined Cody in the hall and the three of them went upstairs together.

The invitation was a purely selfless gesture on Nick’s part, but ultimately it was Johnny who got them into Murray’s room. He was familiar to the staff up here and his uniform enabled him to pass more easily among other uniformed people. No one expected a firefighter to sneak around breaking rules and they were certainly not an uncommon sight in ICU.

The nurse allowed that Nick and Cody could go in, in part because they were listed as family, but more because Johnny leant them an official air. She said they could have two minutes each, and Johnny got four because he managed to subtly convey the idea, without actually saying outright, that he was conducting some kind of investigation. He didn’t know what the guys did during their time, but Johnny spent his sitting in a chair by the bed, holding Murray’s left hand and staring with dry eyes at his bruised and bloated face. This man didn’t even look like his fine-boned, brown-eyed boy. It was his hands themselves that identified him now, the long, pale fingers and neatly trimmed nails, dirty and chipped from the asphalt, but still clearly his.

“Oh, baby,” he whispered. “Murray, baby. You have to wake up, okay? Whatever happens, I don’t care, just as long as you wake up. I’ll take care of you, no matter what. Please hear me, baby. Just wake up and I’ll be here. I love you so much, Murray. I love you and I’ll be right here.” He lifted the thin, road-rashed hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly. Then he bent and kissed Murray’s one exposed cheek, the tip of his nose, the corner of his left eye. Everything else was either bandaged or blocked by the vent tubing.

“I love you, baby. Wake up,” he whispered one more time. Then the nurse was there, telling him he had to go. Johnny laid Murray’s hand carefully on the bed and left without looking back.

He spent that night in the waiting room while Nick and Cody went home to sleep in their own bed for the last time in the foreseeable future. The next morning they were back with a pair of Murray’s jeans and a t-shirt for Johnny, who was close enough to his size. He changed in the restroom and returned to find they’d also brought breakfast.

“You didn’t have to do this,” he said humbly, grinning a subdued version of his brilliant, crooked grin.

“Well, we figured we’re all going to be here awhile,” Cody said. “And we’re friends, right? There’s no reason for us to be at each other’s throats. We all want the same thing.”

“Yeah, we do. Guys, I’m really sorry about yesterday. I know it wasn’t your fault and I shouldn’t have said those things.”

“It’s okay, man. I said a few things I shouldn’t have myself,” Nick replied. He took a piece of toast from Johnny’s Styrofoam box and sat down to eat it. “The only thing that matters is that we’re all here for Murray. He loves you more than anything and he’s going to want you there when he wakes up.”

“Do you think that’ll be soon?” Cody asked hesitantly, looking to Johnny as the medical authority.

“There’s no way to know,” he said, shaking his head. He put down a forkful of scrambled eggs and sighed. “He could wake up tomorrow or in five years.”

“So, how does it happen? Will he just open his eyes without any warning? We—we don’t want to miss it.”

“It’s not that random, Cody. His vital signs will be suppressed as long as he’s comatose. Slow heart rate and respiration, low blood pressure, little to no rapid eye movement. His—his body’s a machine that’s plugged in, it’s getting power, but it’s not active. When he’s ready to wake, the machine will power up slowly over a period of days or weeks. The longer he sleeps, the longer it will take to power up fully, understand?”

Cody nodded, glancing at Nick to see if he was following. He seemed to be and Johnny went on.

“When it starts to happen, things will speed up. His heart rate and BP will rise, he’ll breathe more deeply, and he’ll probably even—um,” he paused here and swallowed hard. “He’ll probably open his eyes, and they think he might even be able to see some things, like in a dream, but—but it won’t mean he’s with us. It usually is the last stage, though, in the power-up cycle.” He ate some more eggs but with noticeably less of an appetite.

“So when that starts to happen, it means he’s waking up?” Nick asked. “We can look for that and—and kind of know what’s going on?”

“Yeah,” Johnny sighed. He put the Styrofoam box aside and rubbed his face tiredly with one hand. “In the interest of full disclosure, as Murray would say, I guess I should tell you the rest.”

“If it’s going to be about all the things that could be wrong with him,” Cody interrupted, “I don’t think I want to hear it.”

“You can guess most of that,” he shrugged. “But there’s something else. It’s kind of an in between place where a person’s conscious, eyes open, kind of moving around, but there’s no real, meaningful brain activity. It’s just basic brain stem function—breathing, blinking—involuntary stuff. They can’t think or understand. The person looks alive and awake, but he’s not really there anymore. And I’ve never seen it, except for one time when we toured the state hospital during training, but they say it can be hard to tell the difference.”

“So—so you’re saying that he might go through the power-up process and open his eyes, but then he won’t be—alive? Jesus Christ, Johnny.” Nick was shaking and Cody hugged him hard.

“I’m just saying that it can happen. I don’t know what’s going on with Murray. But I have some doctor friends on the staff and I’ll find out.”

“What do they do with—with those people?” Cody asked slowly.

“Well, I think it’s up to the family. Some people take their loved ones home and care for them if they can. Some stay in facilities where professionals can look after them.” He didn’t add that some families let theirs die. He understood why they did, but it wouldn’t apply here.

“I wonder what Marta and Mark would do,” Cody said thoughtfully.

“Nothing,” Nick snapped. “Shut up, Cody. That’s not going to happen, okay? He’s going to wake up and be fine.”

“Yeah, but—what if his folks put him somewhere? They could take him back to Chicago.”

“Cody, I swear to God—”

“I’d take care of him,” Johnny said quietly.

“What?” they cried in unison. Then Nick said, “But you have to work. And his parents are going to be in charge. They aren’t going to, what, give you custody.”

“No, it’d be my job. If they put him in a home, I’ll get hired there. Those places are always understaffed and most of the employees are the kind of people who couldn’t get hired at McDonald’s. Any home between King Harbor and Chicago would be glad to have a person with my skills for minimum wage.”

“Could you afford to live on that?”

“I’ll live in my car,” he said shortly. “But Nick’s right. It won’t happen that way. Murray’s in there and we’ll get him back.”

Nick and Cody looked at each other, both thinking the same thing. How long would Johnny’s devotion last in the face of long weeks or months (or, God forbid, years) of thankless care? Even if Murray was himself, but brain damaged, uncommunicative, spastic like those kids they saw strapped into wheelchairs, touring the pier in the summer with desperately cheerful parents, how long would Johnny last? How long would it be before he wanted a lover again?


	2. They Should Have Pretzels

Johnny was sitting by Murray’s bed, using his extensive paramedic training to hold his lover’s hand and stay out of the nurse’s way, when the Bozinskys arrived. Dr. Baker, the neurologist in charge of his case, let them in together so he would only have to explain things once. Johnny expected to be excluded, but Marta hugged him, kissed him on the cheek, and told him not to move. Melba sat in his lap, her eyes fixed on her sleeping brother, taking no more notice of Johnny than if he were an empty chair. Mark stood between them and Marta, one hand holding his wife’s and the other on his daughter’s shoulder. But he smiled kindly at Johnny, and when he spoke to him, he called him son.

Dr. Baker glossed over Murray’s other injuries very briefly, his broken collarbone and humerus, fractured femur and ruptured spleen, as if they didn’t matter. It was only partly neurologist hubris. In a very real way, they didn’t.

He didn’t become interested until he got to the brain injury, and then his face lit up. Like all people, he enjoyed talking about his work.

“Murray,” he said, already on familiar terms with the patient with whom he’d never spoken, “is doing as well as could be expected. We ran a series of tests this morning and determined that he still has higher brain function, which means he has the potential for speech and movement. There’s no way to tell at this point how much potential, or what kind of recovery he might have, but we’re confident that he isn’t what you’d call brain dead.”

“If you took away the vent, could he breathe?” Mark asked slowly. “Are the machines keeping him alive?”

“At this point, no, he can’t breathe on his own. But we’re fairly confident that that’s temporary. Tomorrow or the next day we’ll start trying to wean him off the vent and see how he does. Right now, though, with his other injuries and the stress of major surgery, he really needs the help.”

“He will wake up, right?” Marta asked, unable to hold it in any longer. She was weeping silently, big tears sliding down her cheeks, and Mark hugged her without telling her to stop.

“Probably,” was the most Dr. Baker would commit to. “The majority of these cases do. The big variable is the level of impairment they have after.”

“I don’t care how bad it is,” she whispered harshly. “As long as he’s alive, I don’t care.”

“It’ll be all right, Mama,” Melba said quietly. “Scooter won’t leave us like this. I know him. He just won’t.” She looked at Johnny for support and he smiled in agreement.

The doctor talked a while longer, explaining the test results in complicated technical jargon that would have delighted Murray. Johnny understood about half of it and judged that Murray’s parents got a little more. But it wasn’t the information itself that comforted them so much as the amount of time the busy neurologist spent explaining it. They were sure he wouldn’t have stayed half an hour discussing the condition of a doomed man.

After the doctor left, the nurse said there should only be two people in the room at a time, and Marta suggested she and Mark go settle into their hotel and let Johnny and Melba have the first shift. When everyone had gone, Melba moved to her own chair. She leaned close to the bed, stroking Murray’s sound left leg through the thin blanket that covered him. By her side, Johnny sat holding his hand, tracing nonsense patterns on the back with a light fingertip.

“I talked to him the other day,” Melba said suddenly. “He told me you were going away for the weekend. He was so excited.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, yes. He couldn’t wait to get away and just relax in a place where no one would know either of you. He was so afraid of outing you and ruining your career.”

“I got outed yesterday,” Johnny replied calmly. “One of the guys knew and he told the captain. I guess everyone knows by now, but I don’t care. If Murray needs me, I’ll be quitting anyway.”

“Quitting? But you love being a paramedic.”

“Yeah, well, I love him more. If he needs a nurse, it’s going to be me. I’ll go back to school if I have to, get more training, get a license—whatever it takes. I’m not letting him end up in a facility with a bunch of strangers. I don’t know if you understand how vulnerable he is now.”

“I think I can see as well as you can,” she said, gently reproving.

“Can you? If people find out he’s gay, and they probably will now that I’m out and, you know, spending all my time here, they might really hurt him. He’ll need protecting.”

“How could anyone want to hurt Murray?”

“It’s not personal. I never let anyone know about me because they burn queers in the department. A friend of mine died last year when his crew ditched him in an apartment complex fire. They just pretended they didn’t hear him calling. A sick, helpless guy could get a lot worse.”

Melba shuddered, not asking what that might be. Instead, she tried to smile and said, “Nick and Cody will want to help, too.”

“Good. The more tough guys he has around, the better.”

“You’re really going to stand by him no matter what, aren’t you?”

Johnny nodded, suddenly unable to speak past the lump in his throat. He was remembering all the good times they’d had over the last year, starting with the first visit to the boat, when Roy tricked him by saying they were going fishing. He’d taken care of Murray then, too, and Murray had taken care of him in return. Johnny doled out medication and changed bandages while Murray taught him how to make sweet, playful love—how to be open and honest in the safety of Murray’s home. They’d spent Sunday afternoons at Roy’s and vacations with the Bozinsky’s, they’d hidden out in San Francisco hotels, and shared a mutual love of technology and Native American art. Johnny had taken him riding and Murray found he liked it. Johnny couldn’t say the same about the computer conferences he accompanied Murray to, but they weren’t that bad. He always learned something, and the buffet was usually good.

Suddenly he realized that this was what a relationship was. All the little things, the day to day love and attention and sharing of interests that bound two people together, along with deep physical intimacy. It was as close to marriage as he could imagine, and the idea that he could lose it, that he might have lost it already, made his chest ache and his throat close up. He leaned down and pressed his forehead against Murray’s hand, hiding the sudden tears that came to his eyes. It had been twenty-five years or more since Johnny last acknowledged the need to cry, and it frightened him to realize that he couldn’t stop it now. His body trembled as he swallowed back sobs, biting his lips but unable to do anything about the tears.

Melba slid closer and put her arm around him, but he shook her off almost rudely. If Murray couldn’t hold him he didn’t want to be held. She seemed to understand and went back to petting Murray’s leg without a word of reproach.

She stayed for half an hour, then went out so Nick could go in. Johnny greeted him and they were friendly enough, but both were too focused on their mutual friend to pay much attention to each other. Marta had told them what the doctor said, stressing the part about his good brain activity and how he would almost surely wake up, and Nick didn’t have any questions. The last thing he wanted to find out was that Marta’s optimism was unwarranted, and he feared Johnny would tell him the truth if he brought it up.

Nick stayed for ten minutes, then kissed Murray’s cheek and promised he wouldn’t be far away. Cody came in for ten minutes, and he did ask if Johnny thought the doctor was right. Johnny had no trouble at all saying, _Of course, absolutely._ He said it sincerely and Cody believed him.

For the rest of the day, they carefully broke the rules. Johnny held his place by the bed and the others came in pairs, one sitting beside him and the other standing in a corner where the staff generally failed to notice them. Marta usually took the chair while Mark stood, and when they left, Nick took the chair by Murray’s side and Cody hid in the far corner, coming over every few minutes to rub Nick’s shoulders, but always retreating in the end from the sight of his battered friend.

Late that afternoon, during one of their rotations through the room, Johnny asked a question of his own.

“Why were you in Carson yesterday? I was supposed to go home after work and then pick up Murray at your place. What brought you into town?”

“He wanted to take us to a tackle shop,” Nick said quietly. “We needed supplies for our fishing trip and he said you showed him a good one on Gresham. We have a dozen tackle shops in King Harbor, but he said yours was the best.”

“The owner was a shark hunter,” Johnny said dully. “He makes his own lures for deep sea fishing. Murray loves him.”

“He would,” Nick agreed. This was comforting somehow. It made the accident everyone’s fault.

***

The Bozinskys stayed for a week and spent most of their time at the hospital, but when Murray showed no signs of waking, they had to get back to their jobs and lives. Nick and Cody lived close enough to go back and forth, so at least one of them was always with Murray while Johnny was at work. Their own business suffered a little, but since Johnny was off two days out of three, they managed to keep it afloat.

Johnny’s work suffered less, in spite of the fact that he slept two nights out of three sitting in a chair in a lit room. At the station he kept to himself and no one bothered him, and when he went on runs his focus on the patients was complete. Roy was more grateful than usual that they didn’t lose anyone, though. He watched his friend trembling on the edge of tragedy and feared that anything could push him over.

Chet seemed to know that, too, because he didn’t bother Johnny anymore with his pranks or snide remarks. And if he kept a little more distance between them, it wasn’t obvious enough to polarize the crew. Everyone else found it easy enough to treat Johnny the same as always, though they asked after Murray at the start of every shift. He always said the same thing, that there was no change but Murray was hanging in there. The only visible improvement had come on the fourth day of coma when he was weaned off the vent. After that he just slept, his flesh and bones healing steadily while who-knew-what went on in his mind.

No one knew much about what was going on in Johnny’s mind, either. He didn’t talk unless he was asked a direct question, and though they knew he had bad dreams, at least on the nights he spent at the station, he never brought it up. The station wasn’t a cheerful place anymore, and even Chet had to admit that Johnny’s crazy schemes and good-natured yet interminable stories of past heroics were infinitely better than his silence.

***

During the second week Murray got a bladder infection from the catheter. It cleared up nicely with antibiotics and Johnny called Mark at three a.m. Chicago time to tell him when the fever broke. In the third week Murray had surgery to repair his skull, but a blood clot formed at the site of the PICC line in his arm and a port was inserted under his collar bone. He was put on anti-coagulants and the nurses became more careful about blood draws.

A physical therapist came in three times a week to work his left arm and leg, keeping the joints and muscles flexible. Johnny did it on the days she didn’t come. One day he realized he was looking forward to Murray’s right thigh and shoulder healing so he could start exercising those limbs, too. It was the first time he caught himself assuming that Murray wouldn’t wake before the splints came off and he wept as he bent and flexed his lover’s arm.

By the end of the fourth week, the bandages were gone from Murray’s head and his face looked like his own again. Only a slight purple smudge around his right eye remained, and nurses who had been there since the beginning commented on what a handsome man he was after all. Maybe not as handsome as his friend, about whom much gossip had begun, and none at all had spread. Everyone who saw them knew there was something more than friendship involved, but what little talk there was died down in a matter of days. Johnny had a lot of powerful friends on staff who wouldn’t allow his reputation to go down the drain, no matter what.

Their first anniversary came and went as Murray slept through the month of June. Roy dropped by when they were off duty to lend Johnny moral support in what was essentially Murray’s world. Nick and Cody were the only other visitors, even after Murray was moved to a room on the floor. He had a lot of friends, but no one else close enough to invade his hospital room while he slept. Hundreds of people sent cards and they were taped all over the walls, the older ones rotating out as they faded and new ones came in. Flowers arrived and wilted and were replaced, boxes of candy and baskets of muffins were delivered and eaten by the men standing vigil, and Murray slept peacefully through it all.

On the Fourth of July Johnny could see fireworks blooming over the city from the window of Murray’s room. He watched until one in the morning and then sat down by the bed to tell Murray all about it. Johnny told him everything that went on around them, and if anyone knew the secrets that huddled fearfully in his heart and haunted his dreams, it was Murray. But maybe he didn’t talk about that kind of thing. Maybe he saved for Murray the jokes and theories and tales of exploits that Chet had come to miss. Maybe his conversation was normal and happy when he spoke to his lover. Whichever it was, no one else ever knew. Johnny rarely spoke in front of others, and his face was that of the stoic Indian from the movies they’d seen when they were kids.

But as Johnny talked about the fireworks, he saw Murray’s heart rate climb on the monitor. It went from forty beats a minute to fifty-five, and stayed there until Johnny finally shut up two hours later.

During the sixth week, Cap met Johnny as he got out of the squad and gave him a message from Cody. He’d been helping a nurse change the bandage that covered a pressure sore on Murray’s thigh and Murray had flinched when she picked a bit of dead skin from the ulcer. It was subtle, but Cody was sure it had happened.

When Johnny walked in after work that day, he squeezed Murray’s hand and felt him squeeze back. No one believed him, not even the nurse who’d seen the flinch, but Johnny didn’t need their belief.

Nick was with him the next morning when Murray spoke.

“Pretzels,” he said, his voice thick and rusty with disuse. “Why don’t they have pretzels?”

“What?” Nick asked instinctively, as if they’d been having a conversation and he’d just missed a few words.

“They should have pretzels,” Murray said vaguely.

“Go get a nurse,” Johnny told Nick, who was still sitting there staring at his friend in amazement. “Tell her to page Dr. Baker, _now_.” The authority in his tone was strong, and this time Nick got up and ran.

***

“He said _pretzels_?” Dr. Baker repeated, flicking a penlight across Murray’s eyes. The pupils contracted and expanded obediently and he turned it off.

“The night before the accident, we went to a movie,” Johnny explained. “They had popcorn and roasted peanuts, but he decided he wanted pretzels. He kept saying you can get all three at the ballpark, so why not at the movie theater? That’s what we were talking about after the show.”

“Good,” the doctor said, smiling as he tested the reflexes in Murray’s stick-thin arms and legs. Always skinny, he was reduced now to a near skeletal state, but there were enough muscles to react when prompted. “He’s getting closer to the surface now. And if he’s recalling the last conversation you had, or nearly the last, that suggests his memory may be intact.”

“So he’ll be all right?” Johnny couldn’t help asking. He knew the answer, but it felt like someone had to say it and Nick was outside.

“It’s still too soon to say for sure. But we’ll know before much longer. I think it would be a good idea to call his family. Don’t tell them to come just yet, but let them know it’s close.”

“I will. Thanks, Doc.”

“He means a great deal to you, doesn’t he?” Dr. Baker said unexpectedly. “I don’t mean to pry, but it’s hardly a secret.”

“No, it isn’t. He—he means a lot to me. Why?”

“No reason, really. It just seems that the ones who get the most attention often have the best recoveries. If you’re as devoted after he wakes as you have been so far, you may see some wonderful results.”

“That’s good to know,” Johnny grinned, and for a few seconds the hunted expression was gone from his care-worn face.

“Smile like that when he opens his eyes and he’ll do anything for you. Maybe even get up and walk.”

***

Johnny sent the guys home just before midnight. They wanted to be there every minute to be sure they didn’t miss it when Murray woke, but they weren’t as skilled as Johnny when it came to staying awake and bearing it patiently. He told them that it wasn’t likely to happen tonight, that Murray was close enough to the surface that he was probably following the solar/lunar wake/sleep cycle and would open his eyes when the sun was out. That was true, but his real reason was that they made him nervous, hovering around the bed and sighing every few minutes as if they had reservations somewhere and Murray was late.

Two hours after they left, Murray spoke again.

“Johnny? Is everything okay?”

That was from the conversation they had after the movie, after they went back to Johnny’s apartment and made love in the warm blue bedroom. A lump formed in his throat before he even looked up, remembering Murray’s tender dominance and the solicitous way in which he soothed John’s skittishness after. The memory of the love in his soft brown eyes, eyes that Johnny hadn’t seen in many weeks, was almost more than he could stand. Then he raised his head and saw those eyes staring back at him.

“Murray?” he breathed, almost afraid to believe this time.

“What’s going on, Johnny? I’m so thirsty…”

“That’s okay, baby. There’s some water right here.” He poured a cupful with trembling hands and supported Murray’s head as he drank. Murray tried to reach for the cup, and when his arm didn’t work he jerked his head back in surprise and nearly choked. “Hey, easy, baby. Just drink, okay? You’re all right.”

Murray swallowed obediently, his eyes wide with fear. When Johnny took the cup away, he drew a harsh, gasping breath and turned his head stiffly.

“What’s—what happened?”

“Tell me what you know,” Johnny said, ringing for the nurse.

“Um—I’m in a hospital? We went to a movie last night, right? We saw—I don’t know. You—you didn’t like it.”

“ _Sundays et Cybele_ , and I hate subtitles. What else?”

“We made love. But I don’t know—what else. Why can’t I move?”

“When you say you can’t move, what does that mean? You—you can feel your limbs, right?” As he spoke, Johnny was already pushing the blanket back from Murray’s leg and running a fingernail up the sole of his foot. Murray gasped and twitched his foot weakly, to Johnny’s great relief.

“I can feel, I think, but I’m so—so _stuff_. Johnny, tell me.”

He took note of Murray’s using the wrong word but decided to ignore it. For now. “You left my place just before dawn the next morning.”

“This morning?”

Johnny made a non-committal sound and went on. “You were taking Nick and Cody to the tackle shop in Carson. Do you remember that?”

“No. Tackle shop?”

“The one run by the shark hunter. The guys told me you were on the way there when it happened.”

“What…?”

“Sweetie, you were hit by a car.”

“I—really? I got hit by a car? But—I don’t feel like it. Wasn’t I hunt?”

Johnny sat down and picked up his hand, kissing it softly.

“You were hurt pretty badly. But, Murray, it wasn’t this morning.”

“It wasn’t?” He tried again to raise his arm, and suddenly he understood. “Johnny, how long ago was it?” He paused and tried to clear his throat. “Are Mick and Cory all right? Are my parents still alive?”

“Yes, baby,” he murmured, touching Murray’s face with his other hand. “Everything’s fine. It’s just been a few weeks and your muscles have stiffened up some. We did physical therapy while you were sleeping so it wouldn’t be too bad.”

“A—a few weeks? How length? Do my—my people know? Johnny, I’m scared.”

“I know you are, but it’s okay. I’ve been here all the time, and Nick and Cody were here whenever I wasn’t. Your parents and Melba came out when it first happened, but they had to get back to work. I’m going to call them as soon as it’s a reasonable hour out there and let them know you’re okay.”

“Am I? How bad was I hurt?”

Johnny leaned down and kissed him softly, stilling his lips.

“You’re fine, baby. You broke your right arm—pretty much everything from your collarbone down to your elbow—and your right femur cracked along the plates they put in last year. It’s okay, though. You had surgery and the bones have healed. They took x-rays a couple days ago and removed all the splints.”

“A couple days ago,” Murray repeated. “How many weeks?”

“Not many. Six or—or seven.”

“Six or seven _weeks_? It’s—it’s July?”

The nurse walked in then and gave a little squeal of surprise when she saw Murray awake and coherent. Murray ignored the squeal and turned to her for confirmation.

“It is July?”

“Well, yes,” she said, confused. “I’m going to call Dr. Baker. I’ll be right back.” She hurried out, forgetting to even take his vitals, and Murray looked back at Johnny.

“July?”

“Yeah.”

“I missed Santa Barbara? And our anniversary? And the—the thing at Roy’s?”

“Yes, sort of, and there wasn’t a barbecue.”

“Sort of?”

“We were together on our anniversary. I was right here beside you all day. Anyway, that’s just the anniversary of the first time we met. The anniversary of our actually getting together is—well—day after tomorrow.”

“You’ve been here all this time?”

“Yeah. Baby, I never wanted to be anywhere else.”

“Not even at the—thing?”

“I told you, there wasn’t a barbecue. Roy was here with us for most of the day.”

“That’s sweet,” Murray said, sounding sleepy. “I love you, Johnny. Thank you for not leaving me.”

“I’ll never leave you, sweetheart.” He kissed Murray again as the brown eyes closed, and then sat back to wait for the doctor.

***

Johnny went down the hall to the payphone when Dr. Baker arrived. It was the middle of the night but Johnny knew it was the right thing to do. He put some change in the phone and dialed the _Riptide_ from memory. Nick answered so quickly, he knew they were keeping the cordless by the bed.

“Hey, Nick, it’s John. No, nothing’s wrong. Murray woke up. We were just talking—the doctor’s with him now—and he seems—he seems fine. He’s confused—there’s a little aphasia and he thinks it’s the Friday before Memorial Day—but I—I think he’s okay. No, not yet. I thought I’d wait until they were at least awake, since they probably can’t come for a day or two anyway. But he’ll want to see you, and you can be here in thirty minutes. No, they’ll let you in. I’ll see to it.” He listened while Nick repeated the gist of the conversation to Cody and then said goodbye.

The doctor was still with Murray when Johnny returned, but he went in anyway and wasn’t rebuffed. Murray was talking to the doctor, answering questions about his family history, his work, and his friends, to see how much he remembered. He hit pockets of aphasia, either failing to think of a word, or substituting a wrong word without knowing it, and Johnny saw that the doctor was concerned.

Murray said that he was a partner in the _Riptide Deceptive Agency_ in King Harbor, where he lived with his two brothers on a stove. Johnny asked if he really meant brothers, and after a little prompting, he came up with _friends_. They let _stove_ pass uncorrected.

About his family, he was a little less clear. He said they lived in Chicago, the Bag City, and he went to college at TMC, which was actually a pay cable station. His sister was just Baba—he couldn’t think of her real name—but he got his parents’ right on the first try.

Neither Johnny nor the doctor could tell if what he said about his work was correct, because they wouldn’t understand the jargon either way. It sounded random when he threw in _trans-Atlantic microwave_ , but there was no way to be sure. But he knew what he did, both for the agency and as a programmer, and when he was given a pen and notepad, he could write his name and address. The handwriting was shaky, the lettering that of an uncoordinated first-grader, but that was likely due to the muscle atrophy rather than actual brain damage.

Dr. Baker examined him thoroughly, turning him with Johnny’s help to look at his pressure sores and flexing all of his limbs to see what his range of motion was. Murray didn’t like that part but it was easier with Johnny there, strong and imposing, keeping watch. He was vaguely embarrassed when the catheter was removed, but Johnny held his hand and looked him in the eye, making it possible to separate his feelings from his body.

At first he was nervous about having his hand held in front of people, but it gradually became clear that everyone knew the truth. Somehow they’d been outed while he slept, and though that was important, he was too tired to worry about it. As soon as the doctor left, Murray went to sleep.

He woke again a few minutes later when Nick and Cody arrived, arguing their way past the nurses with Johnny’s help. Their familiar, much-loved voices brought him back, smiling weakly and trying to reach for their hands. He still couldn’t manage it, but they came forward and lifted his hands, squeezing firmly as their eyes misted with grateful tears.

Murray squeezed back with his left hand, the one Nick held, but his right was much weaker. It hadn’t been exercised at all until yesterday and was drawn up over his chest by tendon contractures. It would take a lot of work to regain the nimble dexterity and gentle strength he’d had two months ago. For the first time he felt a sinking dread about the future, rather than the unknown past. Therapy would hurt, it would take a long time to regain the ability to type quickly and handle small tools, and he foresaw a lot of frustration while he relearned skills he’d had since he was eight years old. He wondered if Johnny would find that better or worse than the weeks spent watching him sleep, and suddenly he was crying, too.

“Hey, buddy, what’s wrong?” Cody asked, squeezing his limp hand gently.

Johnny stepped in and wiped the tears away with his fingers.

“Murray, sweetheart, what is it? Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry,” he moaned softly. “I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry for what? Baby, calm down. Everything’s fine, okay? You’re fine.”

“I was in a _coma_. All _year_. It’s not _fine_. I can’t even move.”

“For now,” Johnny reminded him. “It hasn’t been that long, okay? You’ll be on your feet in no time.”

Murray shook his head, closing his eyes as the tears ran over his temples and into his hair.

“Guys, can we have a minute? I think he’s just a little overwhelmed.”

“Sure, sure,” Nick said. He was always willing to grab an excuse to get away from a crying man. He felt guilty about it, but men’s tears always unnerved him, making him feel helpless and scared. He could handle it when it was Cody, because he had to, but Murray was a different story. He had Johnny now.

“We’ll be right outside,” Cody said, stroking Murray’s arm lightly. “Don’t worry, okay? Whatever you need—it’s okay.”

Murray jerked his head in negation, his chin quivering as he struggled not to sob. Nick took Cody’s hand and led him out into the hall. Whatever the problem was, they seemed to be making it worse.

As soon as they were alone, Johnny lowered the bedrail and raised the head of the bed so Murray was sitting up a little. They’d done bed adjustments as part of his therapy so it didn’t make him dizzy now. Johnny sat down on the edge of the mattress and lifted Murray’s upper body tenderly into his arms.

“Does that hurt? Is your shoulder okay?” he asked, massaging the slender neck with one hand.

“No.” It did hurt a little, the way stretching a stiff muscle the day after overworking it did, but Murray didn’t care. He wanted to be held.

“Your emotions are just really close to the surface right now,” Johnny told him, his voice low and soothing. “It’s okay. Whatever you’re feeling is okay.”

“I’m scared,” he whispered against Johnny’s shoulder.

“There’s nothing to be scared of, baby. You’re gonna be fine.”

“You’ve been here, putting your life on hold… And Mick— _Nick_ —and Cody probably did, too. Didn’t they?”

“Not completely,” Johnny said, finally accepting that he would have to explain it all. “Everyone went to work, they never missed the rent—we just took turns.”

“But I’m helpless,” he sighed. “I’m going to be even more trouble now. I shouldn’t have… I’m so sorry.”

“No, no, baby, shhh. Don’t ever apologize for waking up. It’s okay. We’re going to take care of you, just like before. Only this time it’ll go a lot faster because you’re already healed. All you need is to regain your strength and we’re going to help with that. It won’t take long and we’ll be with you all the way.”

“I’m scared,” Murray said again.

“Yeah, I would be, too,” Johnny conceded. “So what? It’s okay to be scared. Just as long as you remember I love you and I’m here for you, no matter what.”

“Really?”

“Really. It’s gonna be fine.” He held Murray close, rubbing his sore back and neck with skilled fingertips, and before he knew it, Murray was asleep. Johnny laid him down gently, arranging his spindly limbs in what might or might not be a more comfortable position, but was at least different. Different was what counted here.

Murray slept the rest of the night, with Johnny sitting alertly by his side.

***

The physical therapist came late that afternoon to start working out a plan for his recovery. She tested his strength and range, and showed Johnny how to do the simple exercises they would be starting out with. It was all no-impact, done lying in his bed, but after five minutes, Murray was whimpering and soaked with sweat. The nurse cleared the room so she could bathe him, and his friends waited nervously outside the door.

“Poor little guy’s so weak,” Cody said, stating the obvious. “What’s going to happen when they kick him out of here?”

“What makes you think they’ll do that?” Nick asked. “He can’t even walk.”

“Yeah, but he’s not hurt anymore,” Johnny sighed. “After a couple more days of observation, it’ll be home or a rehab facility. All part of the insurance cost-cutting bullshit.”

“Fucking insurance companies,” Nick muttered.

The driver that hit him would be paying the majority of the bills, and probably a decent pain and suffering settlement besides, so of course his insurance wanted to cut corners. They wouldn’t even cover a top of the line care facility. When Murray left the hospital, he needed somewhere safe to go.

“You’ll take him home, right?” Johnny asked.

“Of course we will,” Cody said quickly. “But we’re going to need help. Can we do it like we have here so we can all keep working?”

“I think so. I didn’t take any time off while was sleeping, just so I’d be able to when he woke up. They owe me two weeks’ vacation, and a little sick-leave. If I’m there at the boat, you guys can work cases, right?”

“Yeah, we could maybe get far enough ahead so we could take some time after you go back.”

“And I’ll only be gone one day out of three. I can commute from King Harbor for a while. If you guys won’t mind me being around, that is.” During the last six weeks they’d made a lot of progress repairing their friendship, but Johnny feared the blowup that could result if he moved into their home. It had been tenuous the first time, even before he and Nick threatened to come to blows, and he didn’t know yet if the bond was made weaker or stronger by the test.

“Doesn’t matter what we want,” Nick said, which didn’t answer his question at all. “Murray needs you to be there as much as you can.”

“I know that,” Johnny said, trying to swallow his frustration. “I’m asking if we can get along, because what he doesn’t need is to be surrounded by a lot of tension.”

“Absolutely,” Cody said at once. “It’s going to be a lot different from last year, Johnny. We didn’t know you then. Murray was hurt so bad—he was in pain and we were scared to death—it was a bad time to be trying to get to know anyone. But we’ve been friends ever since then, haven’t we?”

“I always thought so.”

“So, okay, no problem. He loves you, you love him, _we_ love him—that’s all that matters. And just to be sure we don’t have any power conflicts, let’s make a decision right now.”

“What kind of decision?” Nick asked doubtfully.

“We all know Murray’s in charge, right?” Cody said. The other two nodded. “He’s an adult and he can make his own decisions. But between the three of us, if there’s ever a disagreement about his care, Johnny’s in charge. He’s the guy with the training, and he’s the one who’d be in charge here if the laws made any sense. Can we agree on that?”

“Sure,” Nick said. He’d been afraid it would be something debatable. “It worked out fine last time.”

“Yeah, I thought so,” Johnny agreed. “But Murray still has the final say, so if he runs into that whatdoyoucallit, the nurse/lover dichotomy, one of you has to step in.”

“Absolutely,” Cody said. Nick just nodded. He was remembering being the one who dropped Murray in the shower and hoping the time for dichotomies had passed. “Anything he needs—we’ll be all over it.”

“Right, anything. We’ll move him into our cabin again,” Nick said. He was good at the practical parts. “He won’t be able to work like before so you won’t have all his equipment in the way.”

“Man, that’s really going to depress him,” Johnny sighed. The last time Murray was stuck in bed, he’d had his computers around him for comfort, though he didn’t work with them much. He’d been too busy, first getting to know Johnny, and then teaching him to make love. But he’d liked having his things nearby, and always put in a little time each day just to stay on top of it.

This would be different. He would almost certainly go home in a wheelchair, unable even to grip a spoon, and the fine work of typing and building small devices would be beyond him for weeks. Johnny figured that having his things would remind him of that in an even more depressing way than not having them, and the guys nodded in agreement.

“You’re going to have to do something to keep him entertained,” Nick said, still thinking practically.

“Yeah. I just hope I can be that—entertaining.”

The nurse came out and told them they could go back in. Johnny went first, grinning his crooked grin, and held it in place in spite of Murray’s shattered expression.

“Hey, baby. How’re you doing?” Johnny asked, pulling a seat up close to the bed.

“That never gets any less humidifying,” he murmured. “I can’t _move_ , John. It’s bad enough when I can—corrugate—confiscate— _cooperate_ a little, but this is—it’s… Please don’t leave me alone with them again.”

“Okay,” he said without hesitation. “I’ll ask if they’ll let me do it, and if they won’t, I’ll at least stay and keep watch. Will that help?”

“Yes,” Murray said humbly. “Guys, I can’t wait to go home. I can go soon, right?”

“Pretty soon,” Cody said, though he had no idea. It didn’t really matter, so long as it made Murray feel better.

“You—you’ll take me home with you? Even though I can’t move?”

“Of course you’re going home. We’ve never left you before and we won’t now,” Nick told him firmly, his voice tinged with frustration. He didn’t blame Murray for being scared—he would have been, too—but he hated that Murray still didn’t expect their devotion, even after all this time.

“I want to go soon,” he said sleepily. The therapy and bath had exhausted him, as everything did now.

“You will,” Nick said, his frustration gone in the face of Murray’s unbearable vulnerability.

“Johnny, stay with me,” Murray sighed, not opening his eyes. Johnny sat down and picked up his hand, but Murray was already asleep.

***

Roy and Joanne came over that evening with cookies and handmade get well cards from the kids. Murray woke long enough to talk to them for a few minutes and eat a cookie, which Joanne assured him had been Jane’s idea, though she’d only helped a little with the actual baking, and the next time he opened his eyes it was morning.

Johnny was still there, shifting anxiously in his chair and looking at his watch. But when he realized Murray was awake, he smiled and his body relaxed.

“Morning, Brown Eyes. How’re you feeling?”

“Okay. Dirty. Can I have some water?”

“Dirty or thirsty? So I know what container to use.”

“The one with drinking.”

“Thirsty. You bet.” He poured a cup and held Murray’s head so he could drink. They were getting good at this, Johnny holding his head at just the right angle and tipping the cup slowly for Murray’s hesitant swallows. He didn’t speak again until the water was gone, having learned from experience that post-coma Murray choked easily when startled, and it seemed like everything startled him.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “But now I have to pee.”

“Okay, no problem.” Johnny put down the cup and got the urinal from under the bed. They’d gotten good at this, too, but Murray still hated it. He tolerated it because he hated it even more from impersonal strangers. Johnny handled him tenderly, never forgetting this was his lover but also not sexualizing the act. He covered Murray with the sheet and went into the bathroom as if he had something to do in there so Murray could have what little privacy the situation allowed. He happened to return just in time to take the urinal away, and then bathed Murray quickly, checking on his pressure sores and settling him on his right side where there had been less tissue breakdown.

“I need to go soon, baby,” he said when he was finished. Murray was comfortable, and probably going to sleep in a few minutes, so there wouldn’t be a better time.

“Going to—fire?” He had trouble coming up with words like _work_ or _job_ , but he could picture what people did and use a word that related to it. The word he used most often for agency work was _hunt_.

“In a few minutes. But Nick and Cody will be here any time, and don’t forget—your parents are coming today. You won’t be alone, okay?”

“Kay. I wish you could stay. I miss you.”

“I know, sweetheart. I miss you, too. But if I work now, I can take time off when you go home. That’s better, right?”

“Yeah, better. I love you, Johnny.”

“I love you, too,” he whispered, smiling almost shyly. Even after a year, saying it in public still wasn’t easy. Murray gave him a look that said he understood, and then fell asleep.

Johnny left as soon as Cody arrived, kissing the sleeping Murray goodbye and racing to make it to the firehouse on time. Murray woke not long after, disappointed to have missed him, but content to let Cody feed him breakfast before falling asleep again. He didn’t think it through, but he wanted to sleep until Johnny came back.

***

Chet and Stoker were changing into their uniforms when Johnny came skidding into the locker room five minutes before the start of their shift. He scrambled out of his t-shirt and jeans and into his uniform, sitting down to tie his shoes with his blouse still unbuttoned.

“Roy says Murray woke up,” Stoker said casually. “How’s he doing?”

“He’s great. No major speech or memory impairment, just a little transient aphasia. It’ll take some physical therapy to get him on his feet, but he’s gonna be okay.”

“That’s good news. You know, you’re really surprising me, Gage.”

“How’s that?” he asked, vaguely suspicious. From Chet, that would definitely be a setup. With Stoker, he wasn’t so sure.

“No offense, but you never seemed like the long-term commitment type. I guess we always kind of thought you’d give up when the going got tough.”

“Yeah, well, you never saw me in a relationship,” Johnny shrugged. Chet snorted and they both looked over at him. “Something you want to say, Kelly?”

“Nope.” Chet fixed his collar in front of the mirror and walked out.

“You don’t care what he thinks,” Stoker reminded him.

“No, I really don’t. Not even Chet Kelly can ruin this for me.” He grinned broadly and Stoker couldn’t help smiling back.

“You’re staying with him, then? Good for you.”

“It’s not a sacrifice. But thanks.” Johnny straightened up and began buttoning his shirt. “I know this has been kind of weird for you guys, but I appreciate how hard you’ve tried to pretend it isn’t.”

“None of my business,” Stoker said. “But you were there for me when my wife took off with my brother, and I’m glad you’ve got something this good in your life. Something worth fighting for.”

Johnny ducked his head, embarrassed, and Stoker took the opportunity to go. He meant everything he said, but that didn’t mean he wanted it to get mushy.


	3. The Thing Where I Make You Give Me What I Want

Murray went home as soon as he could sit in a wheelchair and hold his head up on his own. His neck was still stiff and he couldn’t turn it very far, but at least he could maintain a position in which he could breathe. The therapist would come out to the boat twice a week to check on his progress, but Johnny was going to do the bulk of the work. He had a guidebook on more advanced techniques, and it didn’t seem too hard. It would mostly be massages, physical resistance, and lifting two and three pound weights. Eventually, he would work his way up to walking with assistance, and then Johnny would take him to his gym to swim in the pool. In a facility the swimming might have come first, but Johnny didn’t trust himself with the responsibility. He needed to know that Murray had some hope of swimming on his own before he risked so much.

Now he sat in the backseat of Joanne’s station wagon, Murray’s head in his lap, Nick beside him holding Murray’s legs. Roy was driving and Cody rode shotgun, turning around every few minutes to see how they were doing. Whenever they hit a bump in the street, Murray’s limbs tightened spastically, digging the back of his head into Johnny’s thigh and occasionally driving his knee into Nick ribs. His arms were curled on his chest and after they twitched hard enough to hit himself in the chin, Johnny pulled the thin wrists together and held them in one hand.

“You’re okay,” Johnny told him quietly, over and over. “Just a few more minutes, baby. We’re almost home. You’re okay and we’ll be home in a minute.”

Roy slowed down and bounced them carefully over a railroad crossing. Murray’s back arched and his glasses slid up onto his forehead. Johnny replaced them gently and went on speaking soothing words. There would be a muscle relaxant if the spasms continued once he was home on the boat, but it wasn’t something they wanted to do unless they had to. The point was to get him moving, not to turn what little muscle he had to jelly.

At the pier, Roy parked as close to their slip as possible, and Cody got the rented wheelchair from the back. The four of them eased Murray out of the car and Johnny strapped him into the chair so that another spasm wouldn’t throw him out. The look of reproach Murray gave him stung, but he’d taken worse. He compromised by not restraining Murray’s arms, knowing he’d rather twitch and hit himself in the ribs once in a while than have them strapped down.

Johnny wheeled him backward down the gangway, supporting Murray’s head against his chest, trusting Nick to watch for obstacles and tell him where to turn. At the bottom of the steps, Roy lifted Murray from the chair and handed him to Johnny, then went ahead of him to climb over the rail. Johnny followed and passed Murray over to him, then boarded the boat and took him back.

“I’m starting to feel—passed around,” Murray said, smiling faintly.

“Sorry. But I’ve got you now. Roy, can you get the door?”

“Don’t have a key. Cody, do you have the key?”

It took him a moment to catch up, and then everyone had to shuffle around on deck to give him space. By the time they all got inside, the neighbors were on the way over to say hello. Murray twitched sharply in Johnny’s arms, pleading with his eyes not to get caught like this. He would see them, but he had to be comfortable and on his own turf. He had to not look so helpless.

Johnny gave him a nod and asked Nick and Cody to stall them. Roy accompanied them down to the aft cabin and helped put Murray in bed. They dressed him in boxers and an MIT t-shirt, covering him with a blanket that was a little too heavy for the weather to hide how thin he’d gotten. It didn’t do anything for his hollowed-out cheeks and eye sockets, and his hands kept twitching out from under, but it was the best they could do.

By the time he was presentable, his parents were there and Roy excused himself as the boat grew crowded. Mark and Marta claimed chairs near the bed and Johnny went out on deck so they could have some time alone. He stayed there as friends and neighbors paraded through, many of them bringing gifts of food or books, and all of them going away with stricken expressions on their faces. Only one came over to speak to Johnny—a young man in his mid-twenties with the kind of body that John knew Murray had had in mind when he said he thought that a fireman would want a different type.

“So, are you, like, the Boz-man’s personal nurse?”

“Me? No, not exactly.”

“’Cause I saw you here before, when he had that broken leg.”

“Yeah, I’m a paramedic with the LA County Fire Department. I rescued him both times, actually. He’s my friend and I just want to help out.”

“You’re a paramedic? That’s pretty awesome. So, you’re not his boyfriend or anything? Too bad.”

Johnny’s eyes widened, startled, and the young man grinned.

“Dude, I’ve been around forever. I knew the lieutenant, even. Kirk Dooley, at your service.”

“Johnny Gage. And maybe I am more than a friend, but you know I can’t say so.”

“Sure, same story all over. People are mean, you know?”

“Tell me about it. So, you have a boat down here, too?”

“No way, dude. I can’t afford that. I just work here, doing odd jobs for the tenants and staying with whoever has room. I wouldn’t even have that much without these guys. They’re the coolest.”

“Yeah. Yeah, they are,” Johnny agreed, thinking that he needed to remember that.

“Johnny, can you come in here?” Nick called from the salon door.

“Better go,” Dooley grinned. “Tell the guys I’ll be around if they need anything.”

“I will, thanks.” Johnny went inside, leaving the cheerful young man on deck to talk to the neighbors who were still gathering around. That was probably the most useful thing he could have done at the moment, and Johnny was glad it came naturally.

“What’s going on?” he asked Nick, who was waiting at the top of the aft stairs.

“He’s twitching again, way worse this time. It might be a seizure—I don’t know.”

Johnny sidestepped him and ran down the stairs, bursting into the cabin to see Murray lost in a fierce muscle spasm while his mother wept and his father tried to calm her. Cody was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding Murray’s contorted right arm but unable to still him.

“Cody, get his meds,” Johnny said, suddenly calm.

“Are you sure I shouldn’t—?”

“Yeah, just get his meds. I got this.” He took Cody’s place on the bed and checked Murray’s pulse and respiration as the twitching went on. He was certain that it wasn’t a seizure, but he was dismayed by the intensity of the spasms. It had to be the stress of the drive, coupled with seeing so many people right away, but sending the neighbors home hadn’t helped. Johnny took Murray’s glasses off and stroked his face tenderly, telling him he was okay, that he was safe, but Murray’s eyes rolled like those of a horse in a thunderstorm as the frightening spasms went on.

The worst was his right arm, immobilized in a bent position for the duration of his coma. His hand and elbow had contracted, and though Johnny could straighten the limb during their therapy sessions, he couldn’t do anything with it now. Lying down, Murray’s tense right hand kept jerking toward his face, and he managed to give himself a bloody nose before Johnny got hold of it. But he didn’t hold on very tightly, afraid of breaking one of the fragile bones if the involuntary contractions were too strong.

Then Cody was there with the pharmacy bag and a glass of water, wondering how they were going to get Murray to swallow. Johnny gave him a look that plainly said he was a fool and took the bag. Inside, amidst bottles of antibiotics and painkillers for the pressure sores, were a glass vial and a handful of disposable syringes. Johnny unwrapped a syringe and pulled two cc of clear liquid from the vial.

“Help me turn him,” he said quietly. Cody eased Murray over onto his left side and pulled off the blanket. “Hold him as still as you can. This’ll just take a second.” He held the barrel of the syringe in his teeth as he pushed Murray’s shorts down a couple inches and swabbed his hip. That earned another flinch and Cody bore down a little, holding him still for the three seconds Johnny needed to slide the needle home and depress the plunger.

“Now what?” Cody asked, his voice small and frightened. Johnny capped the needle, fixed Murray’s clothes, rolled him back, and covered him with the blanket. By the time he was finished, there was no need to answer. Murray’s body had gone limp and his eyes were glazing fast.

Johnny slid closer and kissed him softly on the lips. “Go to sleep now, baby. You’re okay, understand? Everything’s okay.”

Murray nodded just once, very weakly, and closed his eyes.

“Is that the stuff you didn’t want to use in the car?” Nick asked, unable to take his eyes off Murray’s still face.

“Yeah, well, it would’ve been impossible to get him onto the boat like this. He can sleep now and we’ll try to do a better job of keeping him calm until he regains some control. In the meantime, let’s clean him up a little. Will one of you get me a wet washcloth?”

Nick was closer to the door, but Cody went with him, as if it was a two man job. When Nick brought the cloth, Cody didn’t come back.

“He doesn’t like blood,” Nick offered lamely as Johnny washed his lover’s face. Murray’s nose had stopped bleeding quickly and in a couple of minutes he looked like he was just sleeping.

“It’s a little scary,” Johnny agreed. “But he’s going to get well fast. Tell Cody not to worry about that.”

“Yeah, don’t worry,” Nick repeated. “That shouldn’t be hard.”

***

“Come on, baby, push it,” Johnny laughed. “You can do better than that.”

“I need more invective,” Murray said. He was lying on his back in the bed, holding Johnny’s hands and pushing up and out against him. They’d been doing this for three days and Johnny was sure he’d made progress, but the aphasia kept popping up.

“Incentive,” he said, easing up a little and then pushing back.

“What?”

“You said invective. I’m not sure what that even means, but you probably meant incentive.”

“Oh, yes. Invective would be bad. I don’t want that. So,” he went on, straining against Johnny’s hands until the tendons trembled in his neck and arms, “what’s my in—incentive?”

“Not sure. What would it take to make you actually _work_ at this?”

Murray laughed even as the sweat ran into his eyes.

“You could blow me. You know, if I deserved it.”

“I don’t know. That’s a pretty big prize. I think we’re gonna need legwork for that.”

“You’re no fun at all unicorn. I remember when all I had to do was ask.”

“Yeah, we had more fun before your massive head injury,” Johnny remarked. A brief flash of hurt crossed Murray’s face and then he pushed back all the harder. It lasted a few seconds, until his arms began trembling uncontrollably. Johnny relaxed his hold and Murray’s arms collapsed, the right folding back into its broken wing contracture. The left was only slightly bent, and when Johnny straightened it on the bed, it stayed straight.

Johnny took his right hand and eased the arm out straight again. They’d made sufficient progress for him to place the hand on his own knee and have Murray grip it tightly enough to hold his arm steady. Johnny massaged it firmly, almost painfully, for a long time while Murray squeezed and relaxed, flexing his tired fingers.

“We might have to get a straight splint for you to wear at night,” he mused, digging his fingertips into Murray’s bicep. “Sort of retrain the tendons.”

“No, no more splints,” Murray groaned. “I’m tired of being blocked in plastic.”

“I know, sweetheart. But you want to use your arm again, right? We have to do whatever it takes.”

“Am I asking too much of you, Johnny? Would the splint be—easier?”

“Easier? Easier than what?”

“Than all the exercises and massages.”

“No, that’s not what I meant at all. It would be in addition to all these other things. You deserve every opportunity, every advantage, and that includes equipment, manual therapy, everything I can think of.”

“Really? Gosh, you’re putting in so much time…”

“Don’t even start that.” He unclenched Murray’s fingers, patted his arm, and laid it down on the bed. “We take care of each other, remember? That’s the deal. And anyway, the sooner you get strong, the sooner we can get back to doing _fun_ things.”

“I love you, Johnny Gage,” he whispered, his eyes filling with weak tears. Since he woke from the coma, it seemed like everything made him cry.

“I know, baby. I love you, too. But that doesn’t get you out of the legwork.” Johnny moved to the foot of the bed and began rotating Murray’s ankles. “Try to hold your arm down,” he instructed as Murray’s hand started creeping back up his chest.

“It feels unnatural,” Murray complained. “Like holding it behind my back.”

“Well, that’s the point. The contracture feels normal and you have to fight that or it _will_ be. I’ve seen it lots of times, baby, and you don’t want to be that guy.”

“What guy?”

“The guy poking his keyboard with a pencil eraser and eating Chinese food with a fork because he can’t work chopsticks left-handed. You don’t want that, Murray. You want to be _you_ , the guy who can’t play volleyball any more than he can fly, but can do absolutely _anything_ with his hands.”

“Anything?” he repeated doubtfully.

“All the times I said I’d never leave you?” Johnny said, putting down his right foot and lifting the left. “That was assuming you worked really hard to recover your hands. Because I’m afraid that losing those fingers is a deal breaker.”

“You’re joking.”

“Kind of. But one of the things I love about you is how hard you work for everything you want. I don’t want to see that change.”

“It won’t. I’m just really tired and my barn hurts and I don’t want to work all the time. At least not on anything that isn’t a comptroller.”

“I know. But this is how to get back to your computers, I promise. Now get that elbow straight.”

“I can’t. I’m sorry, I can’t—it won’t—god _damn_ it,” he cried in frustration.

“All right, hang on. Don’t get tense, baby.” He put down Murray’s foot and slid off the bed. There was a bag of therapeutic equipment on the floor, things Murray was scheduled to start working with in a week or so, and Johnny had an idea. In the bag were wrist and ankle weights in varying sizes, intended to be worn when he started moving around again. Johnny selected a three pound weight and strapped it to Murray’s right wrist. There was no way he could lift it, but that was the point. His elbow and wrist were straight, and the only way he could bend them would be by gaining the same strength that would enable him to straighten them on his own.

That problem solved, Johnny went back to working on his legs.

The therapy session lasted two hours, with a lot of five minute breaks scattered throughout, and ended in a long, hot shower. Cody had dug the shower chair out of storage and Johnny carried him into the head, naked and wrapped in a towel. Johnny didn’t bother with the towel for himself, but the guys were in the galley making dinner, and he was accustomed to being naked in front of random people, anyway.

He was just as glad they didn’t catch him, but it would have been worth it for the pleasure of soaking in the steam with Murray cuddled in his lap. The tense right arm curled up on him again and Johnny massaged it between soaping his body and shampooing his hair.

“You’re detri—detrimental—determined to beat that thing, aren’t you?” Murray teased.

“I am. I just can’t stand the thought of you jerking me off left-handed for the rest of our lives.”

“The rest of our lives?” he repeated, suddenly shy.

“Well, however long you want to,” Johnny said casually. “No pressure.”

“I wouldn’t mind being with you forever.” He said it very softly, resting his head on Johnny’s shoulder to muffle his words.

“You came pretty close. Baby, you gotta stop almost dying.”

“This is the last time, I promise.”

***

Murray’s family was there for supper. They had rooms at _Straightaway’s_ for another week, but they weren’t spending too much time on the boat. As much as Melba and their parents wanted to spend every minute with him, his therapy came first and naps came second. Visits with family and friends were a distant third, and no one needed Johnny to tell them so.

He dressed Murray in jeans and t-shirt, with a soft flannel overshirt to help conceal his bony frame. Not that Murray hadn’t always been bony, nor had he ever been particularly shy about it, but he felt different now. It was too obvious that he’d been sick, and his mother’s worried eyes were soft puddles of guilt. Whenever she was around, he covered as much of his body as possible and tried to keep his eyes open. It didn’t really help, though. Mothers were going to feel guilty, no matter what.

What did help was having Johnny carry him up to the salon and prop him in the corner behind the table before anyone else got there. It looked like he was holding himself upright, but that was an illusion. Johnny was sitting beside him, one arm around his shoulders in a gesture of sweet affection that was also his primary form of support. Cody showed their guests in while Nick finished up the meal down below. Melba took the seat on Murray’s other side, helping to shield him from their mother’s sorrow, and did what she could to keep the conversation cheerful. A programmer she’d been working with during her last job had gone to school with Murray, so there was a lot to catch him up on there. Marta and Mark listened attentively, pleased to see Murray smile and laugh, though his smile showed too many teeth, and his laugh was weaker than they remembered.

Nick called Cody for help and the two of them carried the baked chicken, salad, and cornbread up to the table. There was beer for those who wanted it, and lemonade and iced tea for those who didn’t. Johnny filled their plates and cut up Murray’s chicken without asking so as not to call attention to it. Then he slipped his arm around Murray’s shoulders again, leaning into him like an affectionate lover engaged in inappropriate behavior and fed him slowly, alternating between Murray’s plate and his own with the same fork. The conversation went on around them as Murray chewed and swallowed carefully, pausing often to drink lemonade through a straw. He didn’t try to talk, since he still tended to choke easily, and Melba was careful not to make him laugh.

But as the meal went on, she talked less and less. Her attention was captivated by Johnny’s casual, loving care of her helpless brother. He made it look like a good time, like some kind of game they were playing just for fun, and Murray responded with smiles and an expression in his bright eyes that bordered on worship.

But, as grateful as he was, Murray ate very little. The chewing and swallowing tired him, though he was getting better with every meal. Dessert was designed to cut him some slack, consisting of vanilla ice cream, strawberries, and fresh whipped cream. Johnny ate enough so that it wasn’t obvious that he wasn’t eating, and very patiently fed the rest to Murray. It was the one thing he could always get down, but so far his friends had no success in convincing him to eat ice cream all day long.

After dinner there was a lull in the conversation that allowed Johnny to ask Murray what he wanted to do next. Murray, worn out from the therapy and the stress of so many visitors, really wanted a nap. But there was something he wanted almost as much, and which would be more fun for the others. He swallowed and spoke with great effort.

“I want to look at the salt,” he said hoarsely.

“The salt?” Johnny repeated.

“What, like this?” Nick asked, picking up the salt shaker.

“No,” Murray said, nodding stiffly to one side in a gesture of negation. “The _salt_. Outside. I want to look at the salt.”

“You mean the ocean, baby? You want to go look at the water?” Johnny asked, unperturbed. Murray nodded, ashamed of his mistake which was made worse by his friends’ embarrassment. Nick put down the shaker and the look on his face made Murray want to cry. “All right, let’s go. You want your hat?”

His smile said yes, and Nick took the opportunity to escape down to his cabin to get it.

“Cody, can you clear the deck for us? Make sure there’s nothing in the way.”

“You got it.” Cody was up and out the door in a second, glad to get away, too. There wasn’t much clutter on the deck, but he took his time moving everything that anyone could possibly trip over. And all the while he thought about Murray, who wasn’t an athlete or a sailor, but who could always talk his way into or out of a crisis. Until now. He thought he’d give anything to hear Murray’s irritating stream of consciousness chatter again.

“You want to try and walk?” Johnny was asking as Cody returned. “Cody’ll help, right?”

“Sure, anything you need. Are you ready to walk, buddy?”

Murray looked from one to the other, and then over at his parents. There was no good answer, so he nodded. His mother’s hopefulness was too much to ignore.

“All right, here we go. Just let us do all the work, and tell me if it’s not working out, okay?” Johnny didn’t say _tell us_ , because if Murray panicked and his speech failed, Cody might not get what he was trying to say. It was possible that Nick and Cody, not to mention Murray’s family, would be offended by the idea that a guy he’d known for a year could communicate with him more effectively than they could, but it wasn’t entirely personal. Johnny had a lot more experience than any of them when it came to unspoken communication, a talent he’d had to perfect to deal with panicky victims, and his bond with Murray just made it easier.

“What—how do we do this?” Cody asked as Johnny slid Murray out from behind the table.

“Like this. Murray, baby, I’ll be on your right, okay? When you’re on your feet, Cody’s gonna get under your left arm. Cody, tighten up on his waist, but don’t pull him away from me, okay? We need to watch this arm.” He made a point of always talking _to_ Murray, rather than _about_ him, even when he was supposed to be speaking to someone else. It was important not to make him feel like an object just because he didn’t have much to say for himself.

Johnny lifted him by the hips and socked his shoulder into the hollow of Murray’s armpit from behind, balancing him carefully without moving the fragile arm. The look Murray gave him said plainly that he was frightened, but it softened a little when Cody stepped under his left arm and pulled it gently around his shoulders.

“Hold him up as much as you can,” Johnny told Cody. “And, Murray, you try to pick your feet up. Let me know if it’s too hard, okay?”

He nodded stiffly and the three of them moved in unison toward the door. Murray took a few shuffling steps, determined in his secret heart to at least get outside before collapsing. Nick opened the door and got out of the way, then followed them out on deck. They got to the rail, which showed him only a view of the pier, and then Murray’s wobbly knees buckled.

“’m sorry,” he sighed, bowing his head.

“It’s okay, baby. We’re gonna let you down a little, but you won’t fall, okay? We won’t let you fall. Cody, ease him down a little and get your left arm under his thigh.” They scooped him up together and deposited him on the bench on the fantail. Johnny folded Murray’s legs carefully, tucking his feet under his thighs for better balance, and then sat down to hold him.

“Can you see the water, sweetheart? There are some nice waves just past the harbor.”

“I see. Thank you.” He rested his head on Johnny’s shoulder and watched the waves as his family gathered around. After a while, he slept.

“I hate seeing him like this,” Melba whispered. “He’ll be able to talk soon, right, Johnny?”

“He can talk,” Johnny said mildly. “He’s choosing not to because you all want it so much. He’d rather be quiet than make mistakes and disappoint you. Mistakes that he can’t even recognize most of the time. It’s a lot of pressure.”

“Really?” Marta asked, stricken. “Are we slowing down his recovery? Be honest, because that’s the last thing we want.”

“No, you’re not slowing it down,” he said quickly. Murray wouldn’t like it if he hurt them. “He’s just trying to protect you. Don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t worry?” Mark repeated. “Our son was in a coma for a month and a half and now he’s choosing not to speak to us because he’s afraid of being embarrassed, and you’re telling us not to worry?” He laughed nervously and added, “I’m sorry, Johnny, but it’s obvious you’re not a parent.”

Johnny smiled softly and kissed the top of Murray’s head, studying him carefully to make sure he still slept.

“No, I’m not. But worrying’s not gonna help anything. It just adds to the pressure he already feels to perform for you. He’s been working hard to please you all his life and he can’t let you down now.”

“So—so what do we do?” Mark asked, almost fearfully.

“Nothing. Just treat him the same as always. Talk to him and let him respond however he wants to. Don’t look sad if he doesn’t use words, and don’t pity him if he gets it wrong. It’s the pity that hurts him the most, I think. Just act like nothing’s changed. Because, you know, it really hasn’t. He’s still Murray. He still thinks the same way, he still wants the same things, he still loves all of you as much as he ever did.”

“It’s so hard,” Melba whispered. “I miss his laugh so much.”

“He still laughs,” Johnny assured them. “It’s going to seem weird for a while, but you’ll go home and he’ll sound okay on the phone. When you see him again, at Christmas or whenever, he’ll be a lot better. It’ll get better every time. You’ll see.”

“You seem so confident,” Marta said, looking to Nick and Cody for confirmation. They were still the final authority on all things Murray, so far as the family was concerned. But Nick just shrugged and Cody nodded.

“I know I’m the new guy here,” Johnny grinned, “but I still know him pretty well. And I’ve seen this kind of thing before. He was asleep for a long time but his recovery’s been steady. The doctor says there’s no reason at all to think it won’t continue at this rate. He’s still special, you know.”

“He’ll always be special,” Melba said fondly, stroking her brother’s bent arm.

“You don’t need to sell Murray to me. You know, I’ve been a part of his life for a while now. I go to his conferences and help with his projects. I might be just a fireman, but I can solder and use a keyboard. We—we communicate. No matter what. He’s smarter than me, but I’m not stupid. I understand the important things. I _get_ him and he—he gets me. I’m telling you that he’ll be okay and I know it because he told me. It’ll just take some time.”

“Maybe we should go home, then,” said Melba, sadly. “Maybe he _would_ be better off.” She was still petting Murray’s arm, but her eyes were on Johnny’s face. So no one was more surprised when Murray spoke.

“You don’t have to be,” he said hesitantly.

“Don’t have to be what?”

“Be. You don’t have to be,” he clarified.

“You don’t have to leave,” Johnny said. “Is that right, hon?”

“Yes, leave. You don’t have to.”

“But maybe we should anyway,” Marta suggested. “Melba’s supposed to be in Munich, and your father has that museum fundraiser…”

“If you want to, I’ll be okay,” Murray said. “Neither way.”

“Either,” Johnny supplied.

“Either. Thank you.” He rolled his head back and looked out across the harbor, watching _The Contessa_ cross the bar on her way home. When she was nearly to the pier he said he wanted to go inside.

“Sure thing, Brown Eyes. You want help, or just you and me?”

Murray winked and Johnny knew exactly what that meant. He unfolded Murray’s legs and turned him so he was leaning against Melba, then set Murray’s feet up on the bench, bent his knees, and scooped him up easily. If he thought that it was _too_ easy, that Murray had lost too much weight and should be more difficult to hold, it didn’t show on his face. He was still grinning cheerfully as he carried Murray inside and down to his temporary cabin. He undressed him there, wrapped a towel around Murray’s hips, and carried him into the bathroom. They’d learned the hard way that it was much easier to arrange clothing on the bed than balanced on the edge of the sink in the head.

But tonight he insisted he wanted to stand to brush his teeth. The therapist had gotten him a hand strap for holding utensils, and he used it now to grip his toothbrush while Johnny pinned him to the sink and supported his right elbow so he could reach.

“It’s getting better,” Murray said when he was finished.

“Yeah? How so?”

“It’s harder to bend my elbow. The subduction—no, contraction—contractor—contract _ure_ —isn’t as strong. _Wie schade_ ,” he added, with a quirky smile. He’d found that words in other languages sometimes came more easily, and Johnny could usually guess what they meant. “It was useful for this.”

“Nothing comes for free. Are we done now?”

“Yes. Bed, please.”

This was a short trip, so Johnny just ducked under Murray’s left arm, holding it tight across his own shoulders with his left hand, and hoisted him up against his chest with his right arm under Murray’s hips. Murray’s fragile right hand was caught between them, the bunched and delicate bones like those of a small bird, and Johnny was careful not to squeeze him too close.

“You think I’m getting better?” Murray asked as his lover laid him carefully on the bed.

“I know you are. That was a perfect sentence, for one thing. Baby, you’re doing great.”

“How great?”

“Super great. What do you want to wear tonight?”

“How about—nothing? It’s been too long, Johnny.”

“Sweetheart, I’d love to, but I’m not sure your body’s up to that much stress.”

“I feel fine. And it’s been a long time for you, too. Longer, since I don’t recognize the coma.” That was the hardest part of it all, waking with no memory at all of time having passed. He’d spent days unconscious before, but there was always some fuzzy awareness of time, some awareness of himself, when he woke. This was totally different. He was simply unable to come to terms with having missed the entire month of June and half of July, so he tried not to think about it at all.

“I haven’t been thinking about my sex life,” Johnny said, not grinning as broadly now.

“It’s so weird that you were around,” he said vaguely.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean—you—you were there. Awake and—and alive. I believe you were with me like you said, but—you didn’t have to be. I feel like I was so complexly gone—I’ll never know what really happened all that time.”

Johnny knew he meant _completely_ , but complexly also summed it up so he didn’t bother to correct him. Murray got impatient being corrected when he was really tired, anyway.

“I know. Baby, I _do_ know. The longest I ever spent in a coma was two days, but that total blank was creepy. The guys saved newspapers for you so you can catch up on some of the important stuff, and I promise, I was either at your side or at a fire every minute.”

“I know, I be—believe you. But I can’t _remember_.”

“I know, baby. And you never will. But as you get back into your regular life, it’ll matter less and less.” He finished arranging Murray’s body—naked, as he requested—and covered him with a light blanket.

“I want my regular life,” he whispered, his eyes filling with easy tears.

“Soon. In the meantime, I don’t suppose a little nude snuggling would hurt anyone.”

“My parents might want to sigh goodnight.”

“We’ll be sure to keep it PG.”

They did come to say goodnight, and if anyone was scandalized by the sight of Murray’s tousled head lying on Johnny’s bare chest, they didn’t let it show.

After the family had gone, Nick and Cody went up to _Straightaway’s_ for a nightcap, leaving the two of them alone for the first time since Murray came home. They cuddled together, Murray sleepy but still horny, and Johnny seriously torn. He felt Murray yearning toward him, thin muscles twitching, his entire body wanting to be closer. And in that moment, there was nothing Johnny wanted more. But he just couldn’t be sure. The doctor hadn’t said anything about sex, probably because he didn’t know how to broach the subject, and Johnny was terrified of hurting him just for the sake of pleasure.

“Johnny, please. Don’t make me read.”

“Read?”

“You know what I mean. The thing where I make you give me what I want.”

“Beg. And, okay, don’t beg. But you see what I’m worried about, right? I could make a serious mistake and not even know it.”

“You always know. It’s okay. Even if I get the wrong weird, you’ll know.”

“Yeah, I even got that one.” Johnny turned to him with a charming yet tender smile, cupped his face in both hands, and kissed his supple lips. Murray made his first ever totally spontaneous effort to move his right arm and managed to get his hand on Johnny’s bicep. Johnny eased him down on his back and arranged his body carefully without actually taking his tongue out of Murray’s mouth. The gentle grip of his fragile hand, subtly dragging downward, told him that it was all right. He felt a little awkward leading, having been extremely comfortable all this time letting Murray dominate and instruct in bed, bossing him gently even when he was on the bottom, but now it was Johnny’s turn. And with Murray unable to consistently grasp the correct word, it felt doubly dangerous.

“Baby, hang on,” he whispered, breaking away and looking Murray in the eye. “I’m not gonna get too adventurous here. I probably won’t last very long, anyway. But promise me you’ll let me know if you want to stop. Keep your hand on my arm, okay? And just pinch me if you need to say something. Squeeze with your whole hand if you want to squeeze, and pinch with your fingertips if you want my attention.”

“You’ll be—paying attention—all the time. Right?”

“Oh, yeah. But maybe not to the right thing. Ninety-five percent of my attention is right here,” he grinned, fondling Murray’s cock as it stiffened and swelled. “So I might need a reminder.”

“If I don’t pinch, don’t stop,” Murray said firmly. He tried to raise his hips, but his lower back still wasn’t cooperating. The best he could do was arch his chest up against Johnny’s and gently squeeze his arm.

“You got it, baby.” He stroked Murray erect, thrusting lightly against his thigh as his own passion grew. All of his justifiable fears were fading into the background as the blood rushed to his groin and Murray’s soft sighs filled his ears. He laid himself on Murray’s body with tenderness and caution, but the feel of all that soft skin on his, the length of Murray’s cock digging into his pelvis, made him forget how much had changed. They hadn’t touched each other like this in almost two months, but as he settled himself between Murray’s thighs, a rush of sweet familiarity washed over him.

He pressed gently into his lover’s warmth, feeling sharp bones without registering them, interested only in the hard flesh that throbbed against his belly, the eager sighs whispering across his neck, the slender hand that gripped his arm. Murray’s skin was flushed and the sweat between them slicked their easy thrusts, enveloping them in heat and desire. Johnny lifted Murray’s left arm and hooked it around his neck, and the long fingers twisting in his hair almost made him come right then. Murray felt it and laughed joyfully beneath him.

“I love you,” Johnny murmured. “I love you so much.”

“Love you, too,” Murray panted, and that did make him come. Johnny gave one blind, reckless thrust as he shot, and then settled into a wet, seductive rhythm that drove Murray wild. His thin body shuddered, every nerve straining for more contact, though he was unable to reach for it. He wanted desperately to cling to Johnny, to wrap both arms around his shoulders, cross his legs over that muscular ass, and fuck him with all the passion that was in his heart. But all he could do was tighten his fingers, squeezing Johnny’s bicep and pulling his hair. It was enough.

Johnny caught his signals and slipped one hand between them, stroking Murray to a sobbing climax in seconds, feeling him wanting to buck and able only to twitch. Johnny kissed him tenderly and rolled off, sliding one hand under Murray’s neck to ease his breathing.

“You’re okay? Can you breathe all right?”

“I’m fine. Johnny, I—I love you. So much.”

“I know, baby. I love you, too.”

***

When Nick and Cody got home that night Murray was asleep. Johnny heard them come in and got up from where he’d been sitting by the bed. He was fully dressed, just waiting, and went up to catch them in the salon.

“Hey, how’s it going?” Nick asked, worried.

“Great. Murray’s sleeping like a log. I was just wondering if one of you could sit with him for a few minutes while I—uh—step out.”

“Sure, no problem,” Nick said, giving him a puzzled look. “You’ll be back before he wakes up, right?”

“I hope so. But just in case…”

“Sure, I’ll go. Cody, can you make us some coffee?”

“Yeah, I’m on it.” Cody headed down to the galley and Nick went to the cabin where Murray slept. He sat down beside the bed and waited for his coffee.

Cody brewed a strong pot and carried two cups back to the aft cabin. He gave one to Nick and then perched on his knee, looking thoughtfully at their sleeping friend.

“How much time have we spent watching over him?”

“Recently, or ever?”

“Kind of hard to figure, isn’t it?” Cody said with a laugh.

“Yeah. But he’s watched over us, too. It might even balance out, since there are two of us.”

“Add Ted and he’s put in a lot of hours.”

“We all have,” Nick said. They finished their coffee in silence, and when it was gone they began to seriously wonder what had happened to Johnny. Cody said he’d go get refills and stay with Nick for the duration of the wait, but when he didn’t come back it didn’t mean he’d lied.

As he passed through the salon, Cody happened to glance out the window and catch sight of a dark figure huddled in the shadows on the pier below. He put the coffee cups on the table and went outside to investigate.

The sound of muffled sobs made him hesitate, knowing the other man wanted to be alone. But in the end he couldn’t go back. Johnny was his friend and just because he didn’t ask, that didn’t mean he might not still need help. Cody stepped over the rail and went down to where Johnny sat on the boards, his knees pulled tight against his chest, rocking with the force of his grief. He didn’t move, but he heard Cody approach and wasn’t surprised when he felt a warm body against his back and strong arms enveloping him from behind.

“You’ve been gone a while,” Cody said quietly.

“Did he wake up?” Johnny asked, straightening against him and wiping his eyes hurriedly.

“No, he’s still sleeping. I was kind of worried about you. Nick and I were just comparing notes and we realized that neither of us have seen you cry. Or show any emotion, really, since you stopped being angry. I was afraid you might be getting drunk or, I don’t know, cutting yourself. I’ve heard of people doing that when they can’t express pain any other way.”

“I’m not much for crying,” he said with a rueful laugh, “but I’ve done more of it in the last month than I have in the last twenty or thirty years. And I’ve never cut myself, but yeah. It’s a thing now. We’re starting to see a lot of infections and nicked arteries.” He tried to laugh again and it came out a sob. Cody hugged him close and for the first time Johnny leaned into it, welcoming the support.

“All those people hurting themselves on purpose while Murray—Murray can’t even scratch his nose. _Assholes_ ,” he cried in a whisper. “That guy that hit him—he was out of jail in a couple days. Murray won’t walk on his own for a month and that guy’s out _driving_. _He’s_ innocent until convicted by a jury of his peers, and meanwhile, Murray’s in prison.”

“Yeah, I know,” Cody said lamely. “But there’s nothing we can do about it. Except take care of Murray, and you’re doing that. Amazingly well, too. Nick and I are really impressed by how strong you’ve been. Murray’s been so brave and cheerful, and I know he’s getting that from you. When we make him stay in bed he just complains about not being able to work.”

“Yeah, well, I can make love to him. That helps.”

“That’s what broke you tonight, isn’t it? You were—together?”

Johnny nodded, wiping his eyes again.

“No matter how much you love him, no matter how grateful you feel when he first opens his eyes, it always becomes more real the first time you go to bed together. That’s when you really know what you almost lost, isn’t it?”

“You’ve been there before?”

“A few times. Nick has a real talent for getting knocked on his ass and scaring me to death.”

“Do you cry?”

“Sometimes. When it’s bad. But never where he can see.”

“Does he know anyway?”

“Yeah. And Murray probably will, too. It’s okay, though. It’d hurt his feelings if he thought he wasn’t worth a few tears.”

Johnny laughed again, more sincerely this time. “Maybe I should do it in front of him, if it’d make him feel more important.”

“Do whatever you have to,” Cody said, suddenly serious. “Just get him well, okay? I bet he can’t stand not being able to talk like before. All the rambling and free-associating—I think it might be instrumental to his process.”

“I’m doing my best, but don’t go limiting him. He’s communicating just fine, words or no.” He turned half around and hugged Cody silently. After a few moments they got up and went inside.


End file.
